Drabbles of Hellsing
by catsvrsdogscatswin
Summary: A little thing I'm doing because I'm bored...Basically its just a list of writing prompts I found on another website and that I'm writing on. Should be rather frequent updates, but maybe not. Occasional pairings, but mostly prose and character thoughts. Take however ya want to. Possible fluff, no explicit stuff.
1. Vampires

**_Yeah...so, I'm posting drabbles because the café we eat at has wifi for free, so I can't really manage anything else, and I've been writing drabbles because I can't really do much else. In case anyone is wondering, I'm in London, which needless to say is incredible for inspiration. But yeah...anyway, enjoy my drabbling!_**

_Prompt: I'm always the last to know..._

Seras blinked at the vans. "Where are we going now sir?" she asked her superior, and he barely spared her a glance. "The village of Cheddar. Apparently there's some kind of serial killer on the loose, killing brutally and at random. He's already accounted for most of the village and several of the other units have gone missing. Get your stuff and move out."

She stared at his back blankly as he moved off. Not a word of this had been breathed to her, and now it was skitter scatter hurry hurry?! She sighed and shook her head as she went to her locker to find her gun and vest.

_They never tell me anything…_

* * *

_Prompt: Why?_

"Master, I don't want to."

'_Drink the blood you idiot.'_

"No!"

She stared forlornly at the blood pack sitting on the table as her master's voice dripped with disgust.

'_These humans are nothing but cattle to be butchered at our leisure. They're weak, defenseless, and fools. Drink the blood, or you are just as much of a fool as they are.'_

His overbearing presence faded away, and she sighed, resting her head on her folded arms as she stared across the table at the plastic bag full of human blood, human life, vampire food.

_Why is master always pressing me to drink the blood? I…I won't do it! I don't want to lose…I don't want to lose what parts of me are still human. I want to keep my happiness, and I want to keep my light._

A single bloody tear slid down her face.

_Why won't master let me?_

* * *

_Prompt: The most beautiful thing I've ever seen.  
_

He watched, the wind stirring the silky strands of his night-black hair, watched as the crimson liquid slowly ran down the smooth surface of the mountain snow. Any way he looked at it, blood was perfect.

It was the most vivid red he had ever seen.

No other color, substance, or paint could quite match the true, throbbing red of a living, dying, or bleeding animal.

And it was warm too. Always so much warmer than what he had become so long ago.

It was the rich, invigorating warmth of life and memory.

Thick too, such an interesting viscosity. When fresh, running free from the torn veins that had held it captive inside a body, it was like…like honey, but watered down, diluted.

Ah, but when it congealed, coagulated, it thickened into rich, sticky honey, honey that would cling to hands and cheeks, pooling beneath the poor, limp little figures, lying alone and forgotten in the snow as blood ran over the pristine surface and melted it into little valleys and tunnels.

And when it dried, it was flaky, brown, and no longer of any real interest to him. It was thin and bitter, the mere specks and ashes of the warm fluid he craved, and he hardly ever paid dried blood a moment's notice.

Yes…

He looked up at the bright moon, smiling as his favorite red blood ran down his chin, and laughed silently.

Tonight was indeed a perfect night.


	2. Leaders

_Prompt: Why'd I have to figure it out on my own?_

Integra sighed as she washed her hands, after having thrown her latest tampon in the garbage.

Sometimes, being a woman was so inconvenient.

Her lip curled slightly, and she had to chuckle as she remembered her panic, just before her father had died, fleeing to Walter instead, terrified that she had caught whatever was killing her father and it was making her bleed between the legs.

Integra's mother had died in childbirth.

Her teachers were all used to teaching the wealthy and the snobbish, and over half were male.

There had been no one to tell her of what periods and cycles were.

But still…the humiliation as he explained…

Her jaw tensed, and she stopped for a moment, leaving the water running with one hand on the knob.

She hated having to learn her way through something with no experience, no guide, and hardly any knowledge at all.

She hated her periods.

And she had ever since they started.

* * *

_Prompt: A guy/girl like that._

Maxwell stared at the files on the desk with a decidedly mocking sneer twisting his lips.

Arthur had finally gone and kicked the bucket, and for Maxwell, age 13, this could not have been better.

His job as a secretary to the current head of Iscariot was humiliating, and he couldn't wait to be the one to sit in this desk and make life miserable for everyone else.

But this girl…what was her name?

He checked the papers again.

Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing.

Soon to be _Sir_ Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, after the knighting that his employer was invited to.

He would decline, of course.

No good Catholic would go to see the Queen knight another of her faithful little lapdogs that would soon rise up and nip at the Vatican's heels.

There were more important things to do.

But…

This girl might be a problem later on, after he took control of Iscariot.

She was the daughter of Arthur Hellsing.

The descendant of Van Hellsing himself.

It would be _extremely_ dangerous to underestimate her.

Dracula had underestimated the power and determination of a single Hellsing working without a powerful organization and the support of the Queen, and look what had happened to him.

Now they were even stronger, and had been tempered time and time again down through the ages, until steel would shatter under the pressure.

Not the Hellsings.

They became diamond-hard and iron-strong.

No…It would not do to underestimate Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing.

* * *

_Prompt: London, England._

Drums.

Cymbals.

Chorus.

Symphony!

The Major waved his hands with a flourish, and behold!

A series of building buckled and blew, shrapnel and fire raining down from the sky as the screams of the dead, the dying, and the undead rose and fell, a chorus of agony and destruction and despair.

And behold!

A snap of his hand, and the chitter-chatter of machine guns bellowed down from the helicopters above, cutting down British civilian and Millennium solider indiscriminately, like the crash of mighty cymbals!

And behold!

He raised his hands to the above, and a helicopter rose, ready to mow him down in a mad tempest of steel and lightning and fire!

_Ssshing!_

And the drums bellowed as the helicopter fell, split into pieces, and he continued directing his symphony uninterrupted as the Angel of Death stood guard.

London burned.

London cried.

London became Hell.

Hell became London.

And behold!

The Major directed it all.


	3. Millennium

_Prompt: Waterbottle._

The Major smiled icily as the troops stomped out the door, nearly running after his invigorating speech.

"Water, Herr Major?"

He held up a hand, shaking his head.

Being made of metal was certainly convenient at times like this.

For long speeches, it was often necessary to drink something, in order to cool the parched throat.

He needed no such thing, so he could spur his men on to greater efforts, greater fury, greater _war_!

His yellow eyes gleamed as he sat himself back down in his comfortable armchair that he used to watch his beloved war.

He watched as Iscariot blew themselves to bits in the effort to cleanse the world of fire.

He watched the familiars burn and crumble in the heat of Alucard's past memories.

He watched Hellsing stand throughout all in fire and ice and the cold steel of Integra's eyes, watching her world burn.

He taunted her about her precious servant's defeat, about her morals, and died with her bullet in his forehead.

But he never needed the water for his speech.

* * *

_Prompt: You always leave me..._

_Wait! Herr Major, wait!_

She could not speak as Alucard's fierce jaws clamped down on her throat.

Her musket seemed to burn as it shifted in her heart, her squirming growing weaker.

_Wait! Don't leave me!_

Alucard seemed to bite down with greater gusto, as if hearing her pleas and being amused by them.

_Don't abandon me to him __**again**__!_

He had left her to this creature…this _beast_ once before.

She was new, and naïve, and she had not her glasses.

The childlike female had laughed at her and the coffin had laid _her_, the Huntress, flat out on the ground.

The Major hadn't cared.

He hadn't explained how close to death she could've been.

And even now, even though he warned her about Zamiel, he had left her to die at his hands.

Didn't he care about loyalty?!

Didn't he care!?

She had been a loyal soldier…she had done her duty…and her duty…

Was to die.

But not for any purpose.

The Major could've saved her. He could've warned her and she could've escaped on her helicopter as Zamiel crashed onto the ship below.

But he hadn't.

Why?

Why had he left her to die?

Was she truly worth nothing to him?

To anyone?

Millennium had been her only home and her only family.

Was she nothing but trash to them?

Red was filling her eyes, and she dimly realized she was becoming thick and soupy, like blood, flowing into something frightening and vast.

_Someone…_

_Anyone?_

_Please…help me…_

_I don't want to be abandoned…_

* * *

_Prompt: Do you love me?_

"_Hallo!_"

Schrödinger grinned at the soldier as he appeared on the beam beside him.

"Piss off."

"_Ja_…okay."

He appeared next to Lieutenant Blitz.

"_Guten Abend Frau _Blitz!"

The slice of a scythe blade answered him instead of any words from the tattooed vampire's mouth.

"_Ja_…alright…I guess you're busy…"

He sighed and popped up next to Lieutenant Winkle.

"Um…_Frau_ Rip?"

"_Ja_?"

"Do you like me?"

"Only vhen you aren't interrupting me during anything important."

"Oh…okay. Do you love me?"

"No."

"…Vhy?"

"I'm a Huntress. I don't love, and besides, zat's a silly thing for humans. Ve're members of the Verewolves. Ve are the Varmongers."

"_Ja…_I know."

He knew better than to try Doc or the Major.

"Captain?"

The only true werewolf in the battalion looked at him silently as he worked on his Mausers.

"Do you like me?"

His hands stilled, and he laid the guns on his table and looked at the catboy silently, as if to say "Why? Go on and tell me, I won't tell anyone else."

"Vell…do you?"

Hans cocked his head silently in question.

"Vell…no one else does."

Shrug. What could he do about that?

"And…and I want to be loved."

Hans shook his head silently and scooted the catboy out of the room with one hand, returning to cleaning his guns as he thought.

_If you want to be loved, then you should never have come here. Poor, foolish boy._


	4. Aftermath

_**I know technically Millennium were the losers, but since it was a three-way fight (Hellsing, Iscariot, Millennium) and Iscariot are the only enemies still alive…I did them instead of anyone from Millennium.**_

* * *

_Prompt: In the end..._

Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing stared at the figure of her lost vampire as he reclined at his ease against the wall, chuckling.

Thirty years.

Thirty years had passed and now she was old, decrepit, and battered.

Back then, she had been young and strong and flexible, a shining blade drawn from its sheath.

Now that same blade had been nicked and scored, hewn and plied, until she was a mere dagger, to be used when victory could be by no other means achieved.

Thirty years and he hadn't changed a bit.

"It doesn't matter to me."

Well, it mattered to her.

Thirty years since the war…

She had rebuilt Hellsing from practically the ground up.

She had done it alone, all alone, no Walter to serve and no Alucard to protect.

Seras had been her one true companion down through the ages.

She had matured greatly, but she was still an ignorant twat sometimes, especially when she was trying to be clever or imitate her master.

The flow of blood stopped.

Thirty years…nothing had changed.

* * *

_Prompt: Winner._

London was in ashes.

Integra stared down at the ruined remains of her city, and gritted her teeth.

_This is what it means to win? To have my city smashed to atoms and the undead crawling over every brick and stone?_

She shook her head irritably as Seras set her down on the shattered roof of one of the few standing skyscrapers.

She fished in her pocket for a cigar, pulling it out and lighting it as her only remaining servant scowled down at the shambling ghouls and bloodied corpses.

"Search and Destroy."

She was off in a flash, and Integra blew out a long stream of smoke.

That, after all, was all Hellsing was good for.

Searching for the enemy and Destroying them upon sight.

They were the trashmen of the British Empire.

And Integra would do her duty to the fullest extent, as she had always done through this mockery of war that the insane Major had stirred up.

She would be the clean-up to the war from Hell, as the victor.

Iscariot was shattered.

Millennium was ashes and bloodstains on the street.

She smirked cruelly as she let another stream of smoke escape her mouth.

Victory felt amazingly like defeat, as she looked out over the burning remains of her beloved city.

* * *

_Prompt: Loser._

Heinkel awoke with a scream, arching and clawing at the medical tubes and needles on her chest as medics rushed to restrain her.

"Fhat basard! Fhat hucking futler!"

She howled wordlessly, slumping as they managed to pin her to the bed and start injecting sedatives into her twitching body.

She opened her eyes some time later, and she did not awake with the fierce thrashing and incoherent howls, although her mouth still burned and she could taste blood and cotton against her tongue.

"Sister Heinkel?"

She managed to look up, seeing a man she had never seen before.

He had a scar going across his face and his smile was pleasant, if a little forced.

"Who ha hell are you?"

His smile grew even more bland.

"I suppose you could say I am the replacement for Father Maxwell."

Her glare faltered, and she managed to swallow, though that hurt her mouth even more.

"How…how many are gone?"

He shook his head sadly.

"Iscariot is all but decimated, and will be so for more than likely a hundred years. Father Anderson, Father Maxwell, Sister Yumie, and over three quarters of our forces were lost to the flames of that hellish battle."

Her fist tensed on the sheet.

"And Hellsing…wha about hem?"

He nodded a few times as his smile slipped a bit.

"Sir Hellsing survived with only the loss of an eye, and so did the younger of her dammed pets."

Heinkel howled with wordlessly rage and deep agony, and he nodded a few times, shutting the door behind him as he left her to grieve and stew in her anger.

_Yumie…Father…and Maxwell too…_

"WHY!"

Tears and blood coursed down her face, her mouth stinging and burning as blood dripped over her chin from the force of her screams.

"WHY DID _I _HAVE TO LIVE!"


	5. Seras Victoria

_***The last prompt would probably be either my reaction if I was turned into a vampire, or the reason I'd refuse if asked under the same circumstances Seras was turned in. If someone says they'll save me, I want my LIFE to be saved, not my existence. It becomes a moot point on "saving" when I end up an undead vampire. That's still DEAD.**_

* * *

_Prompt: Where were you?_

Seras sighed as she took the plastic straw in her mouth.

Her master had returned.

The joy was tempered by an extremely improper and disobedient feeling of anger.

Where had he _been_ the last thirty years?

Killing his familiars?

It was Master!

He could kill _billions_ of humans within a month if he was left free to roam without Sir Integra keeping him on a leash!

And he had taken_ thirty years_ to kill a measly army of a few million?!

He had left her _alone_, in the cold, to learn all by herself!

She was still so young in vampiric terms.

She had to learn the ropes all by herself, and as she did so, good men, men who simply were trying to do the right thing, had gotten_ killed_ under her command.

Why hadn't her master come back sooner?!

She shook her head irritably, leaning her Harkonnen against the wall as she finished and crumpled the blood pack.

She was a good fledgling, and she wouldn't betray her master by thinking things like this.

But the resentment still lingered.

* * *

_Prompt: I'm sorry._

Seras stared at the mass grave, choking back tears.

Her body couldn't afford the loss of nutrients, and bloody tears on her face just _might_ alert the other visitors to her otherworldly nature.

But she wanted to cry all the same.

_Eddie…Simon…all of them…all of them died…_

It had been, without question, the most terrifying and the most horrible night of her life.

All of her friends, her _family_, the ones who had accepted her, all of them had died at the fangs of the vampire and the jaws of the ghouls.

All but one.

All but her.

_I'm sorry…_

Survivor's guilt was indeed a horrible thing.

And now, all of her new friends, her new family, they had died too.

Down to the last man, the soldiers and staff of the Hellsing Manor had been slaughtered.

Then they had become ghouls.

Then she had killed them again.

She stared at the graves as the rain poured down, a dead thing, just as her comrades were.

But she had been given a chance that they hadn't.

A single red tear slid down her face, and she quickly wiped it away with the back of her gloved hand.

_I'm so sorry._

* * *

_Prompt: So ungrateful._

Seras sat, arms folded crossly, staring at the small plastic bag of human blood.

_Master, this wasn't what I meant!_

When he had asked her if she was a virgin, she had been too scared to understand what was going on and had replied only because he was nearly aiming his gun at her.

She had asked him to save her _life_.

Not _kill_ her.

Not make her _undead_.

She had wanted to _live_!

To enjoy the rest of her life!

Not to be condemned to _this_!

Tears sprung to her eyes as she stewed in her misery, laying her chin on her folded arms as they rested themselves on the wooden surface.

She would never be able to enjoy a day at the beach again, or eat chocolate, or buy a silver necklace or earring.

Those abilities, those pleasures, they had been taken from her.

Now she could only lurk in the gloom and choke down the thick, repulsive blood.

Now she could just stagnate and exist, forever.


	6. IntegraxAlucard

_***I personally do not really ship AlucardxIntegra as such, but I **_do_** believe that at the very least they respect each other greatly. I dunno if they actually do LIKE like each other, but for all I know they do. These prompts just sorta seemed to click with some of the different ways their relationship could be taken.**_

* * *

_Prompt: I feel so foolish._

Integra stared coldly at the tea on her desk.

It was soothing Earl Grey, and there was nothing pressing to be done for the moment, and rain pattered down on the roof of her mansion and tapped against the large windows in her office.

So, in theory, she should at least be relaxed.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Integra was tense and agitated, as she had been for years now, for one reason or another.

However, this reason was always reoccurring.

Alucard.

He was a monster.

He was a black-hearted _monster_ that killed his own kind, slaughtered innocent, ordinary humans as if they were nothing more than playtoys for his convenience, and loved nothing more than to be in the thick of a battlefield, right in with the blood and the screams, and feel the warped insanity of war and slaughter wash over him.

She knew this to be true.

The Hellsing bonds told her what was in his mind as he killed, showed her, as if she too was there with him and delighting in the death of those he deemed enemies.

It made her sick to her stomach sometimes how his emotions carried over to her.

Her father had warned about this.

Her grandfather had warned about this.

All of her ancestors, all the way up to Abraham Van Hellsing, they had warned about this.

Alucard was a monster.

But he was an _attractive_ monster.

Vampires could lure in human prey with their inhuman grace, charm, and looks.

They could entice them with their hypnotic bodies and forms and the humans would be too enraptured to even notice as the fatal bite was delivered.

It was one of their most basic powers, and luckily one the FREAKs plaguing her did not posses.

But Alucard had it.

Oh dear lord, Alucard had it.

And he knew it.

And he delighted in it.

Thus, her problem and her tension.

She was the first Hellsing heir that was, in fact, female.

Her ancestors quite clearly warned their descendants about what would happen with Alucard and females in the journals and documents she had found and read.

And what they said wasn't encouraging.

She had denied all of her emotions towards him, carnal or otherwise, burying them as deeply far down as she could and ignoring him whenever he attempted to make a move that could be considered seduction.

But he kept trying anyway.

It seemed to frustrate him and amuse him at the same time at how hard it was to bend her to his will.

It had become a game with them, a game of emotions and leverage and raw will, sometimes with her emerging the victor, sometimes with him overcoming her iron resolve.

She knew the game of cat and mouse, and she knew that she was a participant in it.

She just hoped that she would come out the victor.

* * *

_Prompt: We wasted so much time. _

"Master?"

"…What?"

"Was it really thirty years?"

Integra looked at her most loyal servant, steepling her hands as she rested her weight on her elbows.

He looked almost vulnerable, uncertain, as if this was some trick he hadn't figured out and didn't quite like.

"Yes. Thirty years exactly."

His face expressed shock for a split second, but the expression instantly went away as he looked down at his hands, staring at the red pentagrams.

"Thirty years…"

She nodded as he repeated her words in a soft, hushed tone, her single remaining eye melancholy.

"Yes."

He looked up again, his pale lips curving into a slight smile.

"Seras has become a true vampire, hasn't she?"

Integra nodded slightly, also smiling as her vampire silently prided over his fledgling, then spoke again.

"I haven't had an heir."

Alucard's expression froze, and he looked at her in surprise.

"Master?"

"No heir, no husband, no relationships. I'm just as much the Iron Maiden as I was when you left."

He shifted his fingers uncertainly, looking at the white gloves she had never seen come off his fingers and the red seals on the back.

She knew what he was thinking.

If that was so, when she died, he was free.

Freedom was an entirely unfamiliar sensation, one he hadn't experienced in some two hundred years, give or take a decade.

What would he do?

Where would he go?

Who would be his enemies?

Who would be his allies?

"Master…are you sure?"

"Quite sure."

"No cousins?"

"No. Richard had no offspring and I was an only child."

"But…"

He peered down at his gloves again, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands.

Integra's face softened.

"I still have a few years Alucard. More than a few, to be honest."

"Only a couple decades. Nothing more."

His voice was bitter, and he curled his hands into fists as his eyes glowed a little, angrily.

But not at her.

At himself.

They had played hard-to-get for most of her teenage years and all of her adulthood, sometimes him chasing her, other times her pursuing him, in a playful game of cat and mouse.

If he had just made a more serious advance, sometime, anytime…then maybe… maybe…

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling Integra's cool gaze on him as he tried to rein in his churning emotions.

_What's done is done. I lost my chance the moment I left her side._

He opened his eyes again and smiled blankly at his master.

"Thank you."

With that, he turned and vanished.

* * *

_Prompt: Too far gone._

Alucard drifted silently through the halls of the Hellsing compound.

Boredom.

He got bored so very easily nowadays.

Perhaps Seras was doing something interesting.

He reached out and connected to her mind, only to find her dreaming happily of something soft and fluffy, backing quickly away in disgust.

Maybe some of the mercenaries were awake and he could terrorize them.

He stuck his head through the wall, and mentally sighed as they all were revealed to be either hungover or dead-drunk asleep.

Perhaps Walter would be awake and he could discuss the war with him.

It was better than nothing.

He phased to the butler's room, only to growl and shake his head as it was revealed the old man was asleep as well.

Did these people have nothing better to do than sleep?

He had one option left.

Integra.

He faded quietly into her room, making sure she _was_ asleep before doing so.

It would not do for his nighttime checkups to be noticed.

He had his reputation to consider.

First order of business was to check for either spiders or mice.

Integra had no childish fears of such creatures, but he kept her room meticulously clear of them, just in case she suddenly developed one.

Next he had to make sure her shoes were in place and all her socks and were paired up.

Integra always kept them that way, and Walter checked in the laundry, but again, Alucard had to make sure.

This task completed, he crept over to her bed and sighed.

She had this annoying habit of rolling out of bed when she was younger, one she had grown out of, but she still managed to free her body from the blankets and nearly from the bed nine nights out of ten.

He carefully, ever so gently, tucked her back in, making sure she took no notice, and nodded in satisfaction as she was adjusted to his specifications.

Tucked in, in the middle of the bed, her head on the pillow.

That was done.

Now he absently prowled around her room, straightening things, refolding clothes, and just generally tidying up.

It was one of the things the seal had afflicted him with.

During Van Hellsing's rule, he had resisted with a furious hatred.

When his son was born, the constant, nagging urge to protect, ease, and serve had built up and he tolerated the boy, with ill grace.

When the heir after that was born, he had stopped trying to fight it and just ignored it best he could.

With Arthur, he had begun helping with small tasks he didn't really need to do, but would please his master.

With Integra, he had finally caved.

Now everything revolved around his master and her comfort, even when she was asleep.

Especially when she was asleep, as she couldn't yell at him then.

He sighed wearily as he managed to tear himself away and float through the opposite wall, finding a mouse and scowling at it as it squeaked and darted under the empty cabinet of the extra guest room beside his master's.

That done, he wandered off in search of entertainment, unaware of the tiny smile hidden on Integra's face.


	7. Young Integra

_Prompt: Music._

"You're kidding."

"Sir Integra, as a lady you must learn these sorts of things. I'm sorry, but it cannot be removed from your schedule."

"When is the leader of a vampire hunting organization going to need to bloody _sing_?!"

Integra put her tiny hands on her hips and stared impetuously up at Walter as he sighed and shook his head.

"That's not the point, and sometimes you will have to socialize with ordinary members of the nobility and all their women are expected to at least know how to play an instrument!"

"Music soothes the savage beast master. Perhaps you should listen to the Angel of Death."

Integra shot a nasty glare to the empty wall on her right as the deep, resonating voice spoke, and there was a chuckle as Alucard faded through the wall, grinning.

"Besides, I'm sure that the heir of Hellsing your voice will sound lovely."

"Put a sock in it, my voice is terrible and you know it."

"Especially when you order me about in such an unladylike tone."

"ALUCARD!"

Walter sighed silently as the willful heiress glared up at her amused vampire, shaking his head.

_I'll keel over dead by the time we get her to the music room at this rate…_

* * *

_Prompt: Dancing. _

"And one and two and one and two-ow!"

The butler to Hellsing shook his head sadly as Integra hid a smirk, the dance instructor whipping his injured toe out from under her spike heels, muttering something under his breath as Integra smoothed her face into an apologetic grimace.

"Sorry, I don't seem to have it quite right yet."

"You're improving mam, trust me. Very graceful."

Walter made a stern face at Integra as she swung around the hall again, and she looked sheepish.

"Why must you insist on making her learn this trash? A leader like her needs military knowledge, not ladylike skills."

Walter shot a nasty glance to the side as Alucard made the pretense of coming through the door, the better to pretend that nothing supernatural was going on to the mundane teacher Integra was dancing with.

His grin did not waver.

"As we've been over countless times, she needs to at least blend in with the other noblewomen at the festive occasions that she will no doubt be in attendance at. Besides, weren't noblewomen in your time praised for dancing?"

Alucard shrugged gracefully, shedding the question like a duck shedding water.

"My master doesn't need the skills of a woman; she needs the skills of a leader. If it aids her in her campaigns, then yes, she should learn to dance. I just don't see how it will."

Walter nodded in admittance to the legitimacy of his answer.

"True. But war isn't all about going out and slaughtering the enemy, as well she knows. A skillful leader should hold her own in a battlefield or when conversing with possible enemies and allies."

"I know that. But my master is different."

Walter pinched the bridge of his nose as Integra "accidentally" stepped on the tutor's foot once more.

_I fear for our future…_

* * *

_Prompt: Handwriting._

An 18-year old Sir Integra glared at the seemingly innocent packet of papers on her desk, then sighed and removed her glasses.

_Its only 7 in the morning and already I have a headache…_

Someone, somewhere, was surely laughing at her expense right now.

"Vampire hunting is very dangerous!"

"Young women shouldn't have such a distressing occupation!"

Her right eye twitched.

Because signing papers over and over and over again with the same damn signature was so _very_ hazardous.

She replaced her glasses with another sigh, rubbing her sore temples.

She almost wanted Alucard to phase through the walls like he always did when she was writing or signing something _important_ and _interesting, _just for the distraction.

Better still, if he did something that warranted her getting out the small handgun loaded with silver she had under her desk.

She crossly shook her head and put her trusty pen to the gleaming white paper, starting to sign her name all over again.

Boredom was no excuse for violence…

Even though it was so _very_ boring.

Well, policework wasn't all glamour and guns, so why should vampire hunting?

_Maybe because I hunt the bloody mythical creatures that everyone in their right mind should be terrified of?_

Shouldn't there be a secretary to do this annoying busywork for her?

_Oh right…that vampire that got past Alucard…well bugger. That's the third one this year. The office is probably going to stop lending me them in a few months._

Funny, how little secretaries could stand the idea that a vampire might burst in the door and kill them whenever they were doing their paperwork.

And more annoying, the few that could always went and got killed by spies or turned out to be spies themselves.

Leaving her to do all the bloody paperwork.

Well, those calligraphy lessons Alucard AND Walter had forced her to take did come in handy nine times out of ten.

Her hand still ached fiercely by lunchtime, like it did every day.


	8. Alucard & Anderson

_**More musings about each other (from both of them) than anything else, but I guess some of the fans for this pairing could see it as such. I dunno, to me it seems Anderson wants to kill Alucard because he's like Evil Supreme, and Alucard is just like "HOT SH*T, SOMEBODY WHO CAN ACTUALLY FIGHT BACK! WHOOHOO! CHRISTMAS CAME EARLY THIS CENTURY!" He **_could_** squish Anderson like a bug if he **_really_** wanted too, but he doesn't. It's far more fun for him to have their everlasting duels and whatnot.**_

* * *

_Prompt: We're so far apart..._

Dark and light.

Vice and virtue.

Dead and living.

Guns and blades.

Alucard grinned as he swirled the blood in his wineglass.

It was truly fascinating how close and yet how far away the Judas Priest was to him.

Monstrous, yet more human than he had ever been.

Killer, yet more humane that any murderer he had ever seen.

They were polar opposites, and yet so similar at their core.

Kill for Master.

Kill for God.

Fight for blood and carnage.

Fight for destruction of the damned.

Protect Hellsing.

Protect Christianity.

Hate Catholics.

Hate vampires.

Obey Integra.

Obey Maxwell.

Similar, yet so different.

* * *

_Prompt: Is this a dream?_

Alucard's eyes widened in delight as blades sunk deep into his body.

What was this?!

Was this an enemy that could actually fight back!

He jumped away, firing a few bullets into the charging priest.

Yes!

He got up _again_!

His fangs gleamed as they were bared in a sick mockery of a joyous smile.

Surely this was some sort of _dream_, some illusion!

But there were those blades _again,_ nearly severing his head!

Yes, yes!

More, more!

He spun into a cloud of chittering bats as they swarmed about the priest, hearing the curses and feeling the sting of silver erase a score of them from existence as he laid about him with those wonderfully painful blades!

Again, again!

His guns boomed as blood spattered the walls, and yet those blades came again and again with the punishing bite of silver, chopping off limbs, piercing organs, severing his head!

Sick, maniacal laughter echoed in the halls, and there was a moment of pause as the priest wiped a trickle of blood from his forehead, watching him, waiting for him to move as he grinned broadly.

Wonderful! Wonderful!

There was _pain_!

There was a_ challenge_!

When had he last had either of those things?

When he was free?

When he was alive?

When, when?!

Had he ever had both at the same time?

Had he, had he?!

So exciting!

He attacked again, feeling the cold burn as silver dragged across his limbs, making him bleed, making him feel _pain_.

He could never get enough of this challenge, of being torn open as he tore into, of hacking apart as he was hacked up, no, there was nothing to describe this, nothing he had ever experienced before!

This had to be a dream; this had to be an illusion.

Surely no mere human could be this much fun.

* * *

_Prompt: White vs. Black._

Anderson sighed, crossing his legs again as the ache in them became too much, turning another page in the dog-eared and tattered bible that was his oldest friend in the world.

The burning hot sun of Italy shone on him fully as he looked up a moment, seeing the boys and girls of his orphanage playing in the sprinkler and hose one of the nuns set up.

Cooling the heat the sun beat down upon them.

He mused on that as his eyes fell back to the page.

It reminded him of something one of the older orphans asked him during a homework debate.

_What is cold?_

The book's answer had been too wordy and complicated, and he scanned it over before answering honestly, simplifying it for the child.

_There is no such thing as "cold". There is only the absence of heat._

So really, all opposites were just absences of each other.

Black was the absence of white.

Ice was the absence of fire.

Damned creatures were the absence of holy presence.

It actually defined Alucard better than he cared to think about.

_The absence of morals._

_The absence of humanity._

_The absence of virtue._

_The absence of sanity._

_The absence of heat._

Cold.


	9. Iscariot & Hellsing

_**The feud Walter talks about is the Protestant-Catholic potluck of misery that started up in Ireland, as many Brits could tell you. Despite the fact I've actually BEEN to Ireland, listened to a lecture THERE about it, and heard several more before and after…I know next to nothing about it. My memory slipped me. *sheepish shrug* But yes, Walter refers to that, as someone in that position probably would. The next one, calling Maxwell a "slimy Italian bastard" was a reference to a commentary his voice actor and the director did on one of the OVAs, in which he comments "Oh yes, I play the slimy Italian bastard in this." upon seeing Maxwell. I couldn't resist putting it in.**_

* * *

_Prompt: Fire vs. Ice:_

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! AND IF YOU EVER SO MUCH AS **SET FOOT** IN ENGLAND AGAIN, I'LL SIC MY VAMPIRES ON YOU!"

"TYPICAL PROTESTANT SOW, RELYING ON THOSE PATHETIC MONGRELS TO DO EVERYTHING FOR HER!"

"I'D CASTRATE YOU WITH THE SILVER SPOON YOU SEEM TO THINK YOU WERE BORN WITH **WITH MY BARE HANDS **IF I KNEW IT WOULDN'T CAUSE AN INTERNATIONAL CRISIS SITUATION!"

"HOW **DARE** YOU-"

"Dear God, they're worse than Master and Anderson."

Walter's lips twitched up as Seras looked at the ceiling of the kitchen, forgotten blood pack in hand and her jaw slack.

"It's an acquired dislike Mrs. Victoria. They've spent many long years building it up."

"I'll say. If she hates him that bloody much, how is he still alive? I'd think Master would've gotten him long since, even if she told him not to."

Walter lifted the pan down from the cupboard calmly as the shouting match overhead continued to be clearly audible to those below.

"Just as you heard. If she harms him, or even if he's harmed in a way that connects back to England, there will be a religious international crisis situation of epic proportions. Surely you paid attention in school when they spoke of the feud up north."

"Well yes…"

"Exactly so. He may be a slimy Italian bastard, but as Sir Integra says, it's a necessary evil."

He busied himself in preparing the meal as Seras sucked slowly on the straw of her bloodpack, both half-listening to the tirade of insults pouring back and forth continued above their heads.

* * *

_Prompt: Just give me some time... _

"Sir Integra, the Iscariot man is asking for you."

_Not now…_

"Mum, if you please, he's being very insistent."

_For the love of God, does that man have no idea of patience?!_

"Tell him to wait in the bloody hall or_ get out_!"

The maid squeaked and scampered out the door, obviously startled by the snap in her voice.

She irritably rubbed her temples with both hands, growling various words many of her maids would be shocked to hear a young heiress use.

Iscariot came nearly _daily_, asking if she was sure she was doing alright, surely someone so young might benefit from an elder's experience in such matters, and did she _really_ think she could control Alucard as well as she tried.

It was enough to make the most mild-mannered child take one of the large guns Walter stored in the armory and rampage through the halls of the Vatican until they got the bloody idea she couldn't be controlled and domineered like a particularly lifelike puppet.

She was a _Hellsing_.

You'd think that would be enough to stop these old men from assuming she was weak and naïve.

But alas, until she snapped, she had to play nice.

* * *

_Prompt: Maybe tomorrow..._

Integra half smirked as Anderson was flung across the hall, smashing into a wall and falling down it as Alucard roared with laughter from the other end of the room, and the priest snarled an oath before launching himself back down the hallway, Alucard's laughter cut off as his head was separated from his shoulders.

Enrico sighed heavily, pinching his nose and shaking his head.

"Should we try to separate them?"

"No. Let them relieve their tensions on each other instead of us."

Their subordinates continued to clash angrily, fighting back and forth as the hallway was steadily reduced to bloody walls and chips of plaster and wood flying about in every direction.

Somehow, this always seemed to happen when the two of them got together to talk about something important that threatened the survival of either England of Catholicism, or rarely a broader threat regarding Christianity.

Alucard would say something, or the priest would give her a particularly hateful glare, and then the two would go at it like hammer and tongs, generally ruining whatever building they were in and causing thousands in property damage _and_ collateral.

Or Maxwell would call him in and she'd have to respond with Alucard out of not wanting to lose any ground.

But this meeting still needed to be finished damn it.

"Tomorrow? Public space?"

"Of course. And next time we should perhaps bring less violent bodyguards?"

"Why not."


	10. YoungIntegraxAlucard

_**You know, for someone who doesn't really support this pairing, I'm doing a lot of it. Well, whatever. I dunno, a lot of the Alucard parings I'm just like "Hehe…no." They just wouldn't work in real life. Seras is Alucard's "child", which would mean any pairing involving the two of them would be *ahem* incest…which is creepy. Alucard (or Girlycard) and Walter is just kinda…I dunno. Maybe, maybe not, they're both so enigmatic it's just like "Heads yes, tails no". It's a 50-50 chance. Same with Integra and Alucard. There is at LEAST a healthy dose of genuine respect and comradeship, but any actual ROMANCE (or anything else of that nature) is just…I dunno man, I dunno. I honestly believe we'd have to go to the Hellsing verse to find out. So in the meantime, we'll just theorize and guess.**_

* * *

_Prompt: You still awake?_

Shadows swirled and coalesced in the Hellsing heiress's suite as, outside, crickets chirped and nightbirds sang.

Said teen was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling with on arm carelessly draped across her stomach and the other under her head.

"Master?"

Her eyes darted to the side, but the thick blackness of the night was absolute for her human eyes, especially without the silver-rimmed glasses on her nightstand.

"What is it?"

His red eyes appeared, as if to benefit her, blinking slowly a few feet away in the darkness, on the level he would be if kneeling or sitting on the bed.

"Why are you still awake?"

The question startled her, but she answered promptly enough.

"I'm only a human Alucard. I have problems and worries and everything else that might keep me up sometimes."

The luminescent eyes blinked slowly.

"About what?"

This question startled her even more than the last one, and she began to feel distinctly uncomfortable, in no small part because she was in a very dark room, practically blind, with a predator that had the very distinct advantage of being able to see her quite clearly.

As sensing her nervousness –which in all likelihood he probably could– there was a rustle of fabric near her, the only sound as the vampire shifted, and her bedside lamp clicked on, revealing him resting calmly at the foot of her bed as he pulled his hand back.

She was slightly surprised she hadn't felt the weight of him on the mattress, but then again, he worked in mysterious ways sometimes.

"Why are you still up?"

One corner of his pale lips quirked upwards slightly.

"I could ask you the same question, Master."

She reached for her glasses. She was tired of the nuisances of his features being blurred.

One of the best ways to tell whether or not Alucard was being serious with her was to observe his face as he spoke, and the finer details that gave him away were all but invisible to her eyes without the extra assistance of her spectacles.

To her surprise, they weren't there, and she turned to glare at the vampire, knowing he was the only one who could be responsible.

Sure enough, the neatly folded glasses dangled from his elegant fingers, and his mouth was set in a distinctive smirk.

"You don't need these Master. You should be sleeping, and you don't need these to sleep."

She glared at him then sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I _can't_ sleep Alucard. Just accept that and go away."

He did not lose his wolfish smile.

"I could help with that Master."

Outraged, she threw the nearest thing she could at him –which turned out to be her clock.

"HOW **DARE** YOU SUGGEST THAT I WOULD ALLOW YOU TO CONTROL ME IN SUCH A WAY?!"

He caught it in one hand, then set it back down by her bedside calmly.

"Vampiric hypnotism is no different than what humans do, just more direct. If you order it, I can will you asleep within seconds. No strings attached."

She glared at the vampire, but inside was tempted.

She had so much to do in the morning, and the prospect of an easy way to fall asleep was very enticing.

But if she freed him from his restrictions and allowed him to hypnotize her, that was in essence passing him the control, something that she knew was a very, _very_ bad idea.

"If you don't trust me, just say so."

Shocked out of her reverie, she stared at the vampire at the other end of the bed. Had that been _hurt_ in his voice?!

His eyes were carefully turned away from her, so she couldn't be quite sure.

She weighed her options carefully, then sighed and shook her head.

"Very well then. Alucard, hypnotize me into falling asleep, and nothing more."

His grin was back, and he quickly placed her glasses on the nightstand.

"Very well Master. Look here-"

His softly glowing red eyes were the last thing she remembered before waking up to the obnoxious beeping of the accursed alarm clock, and she smiled as she reached for her glasses.

* * *

_Prompt: Please, don't take this from me. _

Alucard's arms wrapped around her from behind were all Integra could comprehend, as well as the nervousness the vampire was practically screaming to her, in body posture and mental vibrations.

"As I have said many times before, _Miss_ Whitehard, it was a bruise from an overzealous training exercise. Nothing more."

The woman sniffed disapprovingly as Alucard tightened his grip, and she sent a rolling wave of calm down her link to him, speaking again.

"Alucard may have his quirks, but he is a dutiful guardian and I see no reason to remove me from his care."

The blasted tremble was back as she said that, and if he didn't loosen his grip, she was going to be choked.

_Alucard, __**relax**__. She has no evidence in her possession that could possibly help her take me away._

His death grip eased up a little and the subtle trembling in his limbs stopped slowly.

The social worker snorted.

"I don't know what kind of political bureaucrat you are girl, but my field is child abuse and anyone with half an eye could tell that was most certainly _not_ some kind of "training bruise"! I don't know what kind of sick game you're playing, but I will not allow it!"

Integra's eyes narrowed dangerously as Alucard made a tiny whining sound in the back of his throat, hugging her tighter.

"I am Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, and I am the Head of the Hellsing Family. So you are never to address me as "girl" again. I do not lie, and if I say I am not being abused, _then I am not being abused._ Get off my property this instant. Walter, escort her out."

The able butler, absent for the entire conversation, ducked into the room at the exact appropriate time and ushered the spluttering woman out the door as Integra smirked icily.

"See Alucard, that wasn't too hard, was it?"

Alucard growled faintly in answer, like a chained dog that had been told not to bite, but wanted so dearly to at the same time.

"I _won't_ let them take you away Master. You can count on that."

* * *

_Prompt: Last time._

"No."

Alucard looked stunned as Integra turned a page in her book.

"But…Master…you've always-"

"Not tonight."

He melted into his Hellhound form, looking up at her with big crimson eyes pleadingly, pawing softly at the corner of her mattress as she gave him a healthy glare.

"I said no."

He melted back to human form, still looking shell-shocked.

"Master…"

"_What_?"

"Why…not?"

She put the book to the side, turning her head to give the vampire the full blast of her annoyed glare.

"I turn fifteen in a few months. I don't need a dog to sleep in my bed like a child anymore."

"Plenty of adults let their dogs sleep in their beds."

"You're not really a dog and I'm not quite an adult yet."

He turned a frustrated –yet hopeful– gaze on the blankets at her feet.

"But Master…you've always let me…_always_…"

"I've grown up. You have a perfectly good coffin, sleep in that."

He turned his carefully obedient, neutral red gaze to her.

"I've been a good and faithful servant to you for three years now. Don't I deserve some rewards for it?"

She tried to ignore the twinge of guilt that created, just as he no doubt intended it to.

"Perhaps you do, and perhaps you don't. My bed is one of the few places I can find peace however, so it is not included in your list of rewards."

He looked increasingly frustrated and abandoned at her refusal to let him in.

"Why are you suddenly afraid of me being with you?"

She jumped at the dead-on accuracy of the comment, avoiding his frank crimson eyes as he pinned her down with his unearthly stare.

"I'm not."

"We both know that's a lie."

Her temper flared.

"I don't have to justify myself to you! Get out!"

His face twisted in an ugly expression.

"You read his journals, didn't you?"

She froze, cursing herself mentally.

Alucard may not be able to read her mind, as his Master, but his uncanny ability to read a human's body language, the circumstances, and their ideology meant he might as well be able to.

"I…yes."

She looked down at her lap, primly folding her hands atop it.

"It doesn't matter anyway. I gave you an order, get out."

His frustrated sigh made her look up, unaccustomed to hearing him make such human sounds.

"You've let me sleep here practically since I was released from my cell. If it didn't matter to you, what you read, then why are you forbidding me to do it _just now_?"

"That was then, this is now. I'm changing Alucard; I'm not a little girl anymore."

"Just because your body isn't a child's anymore doesn't change the fact that you're my master and I serve you. If you don't order me to do it, then you have nothing to worry about. I am a loyal servant, if nothing else."

She frowned a little at that, but sighed and took off her glasses, admitting defeat and lying down, facing away from the red-clad figure.

"Master? May I…"

"This is the last time vampire. Not one single night more."

There was a happy sound as the canine form slunk into bed with her, curling up at her feet and closing all of the many red eyes sprinkled amongst its silky black fur.

It was funny; she mused as she closed her eyes and turned off the bedside lamp.

She never knew dogs could purr like that.


	11. SerasXAlucard(Family)

_**Amusing isn't it, how just after last chapter, when I said that I didn't support the AlucardxSeras pairing, that I'm doing it right now? Well, let me explain. I don't support the pairing as a romance, but I do believe that after a little while, they might form a father-daughter or teacher-pupil sort of relationship. But romance is right out! That said…on with it.**_

* * *

_Prompt: Forever and a day..._

"Master!"

Seras was ecstatic.

He was _back!_

Master was _back!_

Home!

Here!

He chuckled at her from his prone position on Integra's floor, shadows wavering over his face as skin and bone regenerated, and she beamed.

She had learned that trick in the war, before he had even left!

His gaze flicked to her, and his smile grew just a little.

"Hello Police Girl. Noisy as ever I see."

She flushed and squirmed a little, and he returned his gaze to Integra.

They had their brief reunion, and she stood there smiling in pride.

Master was home! Master was home!

He finished and stood, leaving Integra to go back to her bed as she stood aside respectfully, beaming at him.

She followed him happily down the hallway, despite his near standoffish silence.

"Master! It's so good to have you back! I missed you so much and so did Integra! Did you see-"

"Seras, stop."

She came to stumbling halt, her babbling words ceasing within an instant of the proper use of her name.

Her master turned to her, and she stared at him, half in fear, half in hope.

He was so…enigmatic, she wasn't sure if she was about to be rebuked or praised.

She gasped softly as a cool glove met her hair, like the gauntlet had done so many years ago, and ruffled it gently.

"You have done well Seras. My Seras Victoria. You have kept our master safe and whole throughout these many years. Well done, my fledgling."

She beamed at him, feeling as if her heart was about to pop free of her body, light-headed from the genuine praise and respect in his eyes.

"Master!"

He smiled absently at her, and then cocked his head a little.

"You have matured greatly, Seras Victoria. Will you take my blood and be free?"

She stared at him, hopelessly lost by the sudden offer.

Being free held a certain appeal, not having to be held down, but do as she pleased, go where she liked, that seemed very enticing.

But…that meant being on her own.

No Master, no Sir Integra, no_ family_.

She would be alone again.

Like back at the orphanage.

On her _own_.

"If you please Master, sir, I quite like things the way they are. Now that you're back, that is."

She looked sheepishly at her feet, only to jolt as he ruffled her hair again fondly.

"I thought you'd say that. How many familiars have you taken?"

_*Not bloody enough if you ask me, she's only really eaten me so far.*_

She half smiled at the familiar voice as it encircled her, shadows rippling along the hallway they were in, and Alucard grimaced slightly.

"So he's still around is he?"

"Master! He's a very good helper and I haven't really needed…anyone else."

Her protest turned sheepish as he gave her a sharp look.

He then sighed and shook his head just barely.

"But just the _one_?"

_*Eh! What's that's supposed to mean?! I've been a bloody good familiar for mignonette!*_

Alucard's lips quirked upward as she hid a giggle.

Pip could be so amusing sometimes.

Alucard's face turned somber however, and he stretched out his hand to her, hovering above her forehead.

"If I may then, I would like to give you a little something to help you grow."

She nodded hesitantly, and he placed his hand on her head.

Pure, unrestrained _power_ flooded through her, like a lightning bolt to the hundredth degree, and she clenched her teeth around a yelp.

It stopped, and she looked up shakily as Pip's presence fluttered anxiously around her, saying things in French that wavered between concerned endearments and words she very much wanted Alucard to not understand, directed at the elder vampires between the croons.

Suddenly his presence was gone, and she started anxiously, looking around frantically as the comforting aura of the soul that had been fused to her own for thirty years was torn away.

"Master?!"

He rolled his eyes, making a patting motion.

"Calm down Seras, I just ushered him out of the way. The energy I just gave you might affect him badly."

Unspoken was the "_Not that I care, but I know you'd be very upset._"

He then half-smiled and ruffled her hair again, then, in a shocking display of affection, put his arm around her shoulders.

"You've grown into a very powerful member of our race Seras. I am proud to be your sire and I look forward to teaching you in the years to come."

He then melted away, and she already felt the faint tingles as Pip slowly worked his way back into her system.

She felt as if she might burst from happiness, and she hurriedly wiped the bloody smears away with the back of her hand.

Now that Master was back, she had the father figure she had so longed for most of her childhood, and they could protect all of England from the monsters forever and ever, even after Integra died.

* * *

_Prompt: High._

"Master…are you sure?"

He gave her a cold look.

"Of course I am. You'll be fine."

This of course, came from the regenerating No-Life-King that did this all the time.

Swallowing hard, she peeked over the towering skyscraper and all the nightlife rushing about, what seemed like miles beneath them.

_That's really far down._

"But Master…do we have to learn from such a…high building?"

He smirked slightly, looking perfectly calm and relaxed, despite the height.

"Yes. This way, when you fall, you'll have enough time to think and change before you hit the ground."

_Before I hit the ground? As in I __**will**__ hit it?_

"Stop dawdling and jump."

She shifted anxiously, chaffing her upper arms.

"Master, I really don't want to jump from something so high…"

"Very well then. I suppose I'll have to push you."

She yelped as his gloved hand rested in the small of her back and nearly shoved her off the brink, clinging desperately to the lip of the room and hanging on by a slim margin.

"MASTER!"

"Either jump or be pushed. You have those two options."

Swallowing hard, she gingerly shuffled so her feet were resting on the foot-wide lip of concrete, staring at the rushing cars below.

_I can always use my shadow arm to form wings before I hit the ground, so really there's nothing to be scared of, right?_

"That's the spirit. Now jump."

She saw his hand drift towards her and hurriedly stepped forward, her heart nearly stopping as her foot met no resistance and she started plummeting through the air.

Chittering bats swirled down in a swarm around her, and Alucard's eyes seemed to gleam at her from every one.

_**Concentrate. You can bend the shadows to your will, now do the same to your body. Become mist. Become a bat. Your choice, but I suggest you do it quickly.**_

She struggled to shift into the fluttering forms that chattered encouragement around her, but she remained stubbornly human as the ground loomed closer and closer and her undead heart pounded harder and harder.

_Change! Change! Change change change change __**change**__!_

Fifty feet above the sidewalk.

_**CHANGE!**_

She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for the smack and the burst of pain, curling in a ball out of sheer instinct.

_Thmp._

Her eyes shot open as she landed, soft as a feather, in the arms of a certain grinning vampire.

"M-m-m-m-m-m-"

Her tongue didn't seem to be fully functioning yet, and all she could do was stutter as her Master grinned at her wolfishly.

"You honestly think I would let you fall? Please, can you imagine how much our Master would yell at me?"

She went limp with a little gasp of exhaustion, still trembling hard, and felt herself slowly lowered and righted so she was standing on her own, albeit shakily.

His hand clamped encouragingly on her shoulder.

"Now, how about we try again? I saw you start to blur just at the last second."

Under the circumstances, she did the only thing she could do.

Her legs wobbled, her head fell back, and she fainted.

Several moments later, her eyes dragged open, and she shrieked as she realized she was on the brink of the building roof _again_, and she was being pushed forward_._

"MAAAASSSTTEEER!"

* * *

_Prompt: You're never alone._

Seras ran faster, her Harkonnen abandoned somewhere along the line.

This was no petty FREAK, out to make a quick meal.

This was a _strong_, natural vampire, and as a very weak, very young fledgling, she didn't stand a chance.

She was just glad Master was here, or she might be dead.

Well, _deader_.

She whimpered as the spine embedded in her shoulder flared, grabbing it in her fist and tugging hard, yanking it out with a spurt of blood.

Nausea flooded her, and she felt the world spin around her.

_P-probably was poisoned…_

She vaguely registered her knees hitting the dirt, and struggled to gain momentum, to rise to her feet, but she failed and her cheek touched the dank earth as she whimpered pathetically.

_Need to get away…_

She choked out a yelp as another spine pierced her knee, holding her in place.

_No!_

She struggled frantically, managing to snatch at the projecting spur of bone and yank it from her leg, crawling away desperately.

_I won't be weak! I won't give up! Not again! Not again!_

Suddenly the familiar sounds of her Master's guns boomed across the clearing, and she stopped moving with a weak gasp, feeling blood start to pool beneath her wounded shoulder and knee.

Soft thuds against the packed dirt.

Swishing fabric.

Shadow over her.

"You always seem to find yourself in these sort of situations, don't you Seras?"

She held back the whimper, knowing her Master wanted her to be strong, but was unable to hide the sticky tears flowing down her cheeks.

She felt his hands scoop underneath her body, cradling her like a child as she was raised to his immense height.

There was a soft whisper, and she managed to start as his bare hand touched her face, his glove dropped carelessly onto her stomach.

"Hmm. Feverish."

She moaned softly, leaning into the curve of his arm.

It felt nice to be held.

He chuckled softly, as if he could hear her thoughts, then there was a grunt as she smelled something delicious.

"This should hold it off until we get you back home."

Blood.

Master's blood.

Her mouth watered, and she was unable to resist as he put his bleeding wrist to her lips, swallowing when her mouth was full, feeling the strange, intense heat fade a little.

The blood was lost to her, and she whined softly as his hand was taken away.

"Don't worry my fledgling. I'll take care of you."


	12. Alucard's Psyche

_**Interesting little thing I just noticed earlier, the Van Hellsing from the book Dracula is spelled with just one L. Weird right? So theoretically it should be something like Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Helsing, or the Helsing Organization, and so on. But I guess not, huh? Also, since I'll be using this word a lot psyche means how a person thinks or behaves. So this is how Alucard thinks and behaves, and how he evolved into thinking and behaving in such ways. Also, his little monologue in the second prompt is direct from the first manga, which I have. *so proud***_

* * *

_Prompt: Be careful what you wish for..._

He grinned at the floor of the stone, so close, and yet so far away.

His mind was drifting vacantly, and the only thing that seemed to be constant was the pain he was in.

The cool air became hot, then chill, then back to the musty cool of the basement dungeon, his tired mind weaving fantasies to deceive his senses as his glazed red eyes wandered the dark cell.

His head rang and buzzed with hunger and confusion.

How many days had it been since his last meal?

Had he even been fed since his imprisonment?

So tired…did it even matter?

His fluttering eyelids caught themselves as his lanky frame jerked back to wakefulness, broken from his hazy doze by a single coherent thought.

Van Helsing.

_Vengeance._

His tattered lips curled over his bloody and gnarled teeth, a sharp reminder of all the times he had bit down on his own flesh in this past few weeks, to still hunger or screams, or simply to taste the sweet nutrient he had been denied.

His blood-red eyes scanned the cell again, his skeletal hands clenching, a hiss as his scarred and welted flesh came into contact with the silver chains again.

Blessed.

His eyes lost focus for a moment in pain, then served back to clarity as the imprisoned beast gave a short snarl.

_Prisoner._

His head came up a little, and this time he did not react as the heavy silver collar around his neck shifted, his skin sizzling as it came into contact with the metal anyways.

His eyes narrowed with the feralness of an angry lion.

_There._

Through the thick bars of the same cursed metal that he was chained with, there was a light.

He hated it.

Why, he was not quite certain.

Perhaps at this point it was just an instinctive reaction to the brightness, associated with the sun, which burned him and caused pain.

But then again…what was a little pain now?

A sick smile peeled his lips back again, and he chuckled slightly.

Pain.

What a quaint notion.

"Hehehahahahaha…"

As if he cared about such a small and insignificant thing any longer.

So he threw back his head and laughed, baring his sharp mouthful of stained, snarled teeth.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

On the other side of the thick wall, Van Helsing paused in his writing, hearing the psychotic, crazed laughter of his captive vampire, and a slow chill went up his spine.

Even though he knew the vampire was securely chained and bound within several concentric circles, the laughter was nowhere near anything that could even remotely be called sane.

He had told the men to break the vampire down, but from the looks of things, they had done a bit too well.

Controlling a defeated, broken vampire was one thing.

Controlling one that had lost all traces of sanity was something else altogether.

* * *

_Prompt: Just for tonight... _

Hmm.

A blood moon.

Very rare in England…perhaps it was a good omen.

A feral smile curled his lips as he looked away from the window.

A good one for him anyway.

He walked on, his crimson eyes scanning the whitewashed walls absently.

Ghouls.

After a short while, there were no more corpses, and the walls were now stained with blackish goo and red, red blood.

He continued on, dropping the clip and slamming a new one in with practiced, loose grace.

Hm.

Boring.

This was all so very boring.

And here he thought tonight might turn out to be interesting.

There was a scream, and he half turned, seeing a skinny weed of a boy stumble and fall with a rabid ghoul inches behind.

_Click._

_BANG!_

He turned away again, leaving him to the soldiers that always flooded the building behind him in case of just such an event as the sifting ashes of what was left of the ghoul collapsed on the boy's back.

Bother.

That was all these so called "vampires" were.

A bother.

They had no idea of what a real vampire was.

No nobility, conviction, or morality.

They couldn't transform into mist or bats.

They couldn't even heal from the wounds they took from silver rounds.

They killed women and children when they didn't even need to feed.

And they couldn't even fight without their guns or bullets.

_Pathetic_.

Just a bunch of human _punks_ that suddenly acquired the ability to create ghouls, and little more.

How very boring.

* * *

_Prompt: Are you afraid?_

"Monster! MONSTER!"

"C'mon let's go, MOVE MOVE!"

"He's coming! RUN! **RUN**!"

Such fun he had with these humans.

The blood was thick and sweet as it ran down his throat, and he lifted his head, aiming his guns with easy grace.

"C'MON MOVE!"

He approached them, letting them see his mouth full of fangs and the sticky red that dripped down his face.

"Let's go!"

He grinned as he continued to step forward, savoring the swirling scent of fear, terror, and blood as it mixed together.

He widened his eyes, catching the man near the control panel with them.

_**Open the doors.**_

They closed, but then there was a ding and the sheets of metal started to widen once more as he heard gasps of terror within.

Then they noticed his puppet.

"Stop him!"

"Let go!"

They struggled with his puppet, but the man knew his purpose, and that was to _open the doors_, valiantly keeping his place as he struggled to press the "OPEN" one more time.

They panicked and shot him, then tossed his puppet out of the elevator as another lunged to press the "CLOSE".

The man reached up to him, knowing he had failed in his task to open the doors for Master.

A bullet tearing through his skull silenced him quickly enough as he stepped over the body.

And _just _barely caught the doors with the Jackal and Casull, holding them open.

He began to wrench the metal sheets apart, chuckling quietly to himself.

"_**Open Sesame…**_"

They were too terrified to shoot him as he slammed the doors apart and stepped into the small metal construction.

"Good work soldiers. Now, _good night._"

He cheerfully took his time blowing the men apart one by one, then turned as he heard the _ding_ of the elevator reaching the ground floor.

The doors opened as he ejected his clips and slammed new ones in, grinning at the thought of the humans that would pick over the delightful pile of bodies behind him when this was all over.

Some would no doubt have to be put into mental institutions.

His nostrils flared a little as he glanced to the side and grinned.

More toys for him to play with.

He was in such a good mood he was starting to feel a bit nostalgic, and he cast a glance to the side, seeing the flagpoles that lined the avenue of the hotel.

_**Perfect**__._

The crowd of human reporters, police, and gawkers were too busy staring at the corpses impaled on the tall wooden poles to notice him as he walked out.

He grinned at the moon above him, spreading his duster as bats fluttered around him.

_Are you frightened, Millennium?_

_Does this make you jealous instead?_

_**This**__ is what you were trying to achieve._

_This is a __**true**__ monster._


	13. PipxSeras

_**Hi guys! OMG, I GOT A REVIEW FROM MAROONGRAD! (A very good author that I read sometimes) Yay! And thanks for the really awesome comment too Moontan, it made me happy. But…um…keep in mind that even though I'm a smart little sucker, I'm only fourteen…what's **__**Anglicized? *sheepish* You guys both mentioned it in your reviews, but it hasn't come up in any of the stuff I've read so far in my experience, so…yeah. Help please? And if anybody else knows what it is, a little explanation would be nice too. I'm not omnipotent. (Much as I'd like to be. And I don't trust the Internet either; it said Autism is a side branch of schizophrenia…which it most certainly ISN'T.) Anyway, I do support Pip and Seras, because they **__kissed__**. Can you get any more proof-ful than that? Well…besides doing you-know-what. (Blech) Funny story, a couple days ago I (finally, according to mom) watched The Scorpion King, and do ya know what I found? Anderson's (English, obviously) voice actor plays the main bad guy. How cool is that! I didn't recognize him by voice (he was probably a lot younger at the time), but I was looking over the back cover and I happened to notice that his name sounded familiar, typed it in, and found out he was Alexander Anderson from Hellsing. Cool huh? I sure thought it was. This chapter leans a bit towards M for Pip's foul language, so you've been warned.**_

* * *

_Prompt: Don't worry..._

"And zat's how I lost my eye."

"Captain Bernadette, I find that highly unbelievable."

He waved a casual hand in the air.

"_Oui_, and I find it highly unbelievable zat a vampire's walking around in broad daylight."

"Master's a very strong vampire, and I had to put sunscreen and this hood on anyways."

He grinned.

"Oh really? Zen what's that I see?"

He pointed to her nose.

"You're getting red _mignonette_!"

She waved him away with a grin.

"Oh come off it, of course I'm going to get at least a little singed."

They both laughed, and he peered down at her face in concern.

"Seriously though _mignonette_, I see a little crispy on the tip right there."

He tapped her nose as she yeeped and covered it, rubbing it on concern to feel a bit of a sting.

"Oh blimey."

He laughed as she growled and elbowed him, jostling the food he had gotten at McDonalds.

"It's not funny!"

"Apologies _ma chère_, you just look so adorable when you do that."

She looked down, thanking her vampiric body and its inability to blush.

"Anyway, what's that old vamp got in store for us eh?"

She elbowed him gently.

"You shouldn't call master that, and I think he's got something planned. He always does."

He rolled his eye, and she saw the room they had rented dead ahead.

"Hey, you aren't worried about it or anything, are you?"

She blinked and looked up at the taller man as he grinned at her.

"Captain Bernadette, I can take care of myself you know."

Her cool response only provoked another rolling of his eye, and he slung an arm around her shoulders before she could protest, giving her a friendly squeeze.

"_Oui,_ but I'll stick close just in case you get scared, eh?"

She knew vampires couldn't blush, but she could've sworn her cheeks felt hot as she quickly pulled away from his arm.

* * *

_Prompt: Like I promised._

"Hey, are you serious? This isn't like you at all."

Her shock rippled through me.

"Get up! The girl I know doesn't give up so easily."

She lanced out of the way, and inside her, I breathed a sigh of relief.

That had been _way_ too close for comfort.

"Well, now that you're awake, let's go mignonette! Let's take him down together!"

She grinned, letting the shadows connected to her living body flow out onto the air, lengthening my world.

She shot towards him at high velocity, but he moved his head to the side and her strike passed harmlessly by.

"No not a point! Strike on a plane! A plane!"

The shadows exploded everywhere as the dark, fluid world I now inhabited wavered slightly, and the points of the limbs passed through his body.

_Got him!_

"Not yet!"

I raised an eyebrow as the man somehow dissolved, a glowing mist flowing through the bars of shadows and reforming on the tallest, balancing on the point as casually and calmly as if it were a stump.

"Now _that's _a genuine monster. An honest-to-God wolfman."

"A _werewolf_?!"

Suddenly she snatched at something glinting on the ground, opening her fist to see a gold tooth.

"All of this-?!"

"Probably. This is the loot they stole when they ransacked Europe fifty years ago. Even that tooth was probably ripped from some poor soul's mouth in a concentration camp somewhere."

Her disgust corresponded with mine, and the corner of my lips twitched up.

"That's what these guys are all about. They're not even a real army. They're nothing better than a gang of hit men! I think these asshole SS aren't even worth shit. An invincible army? Knights of steel? Don't make me laugh!"

The werewolf suddenly kicked something at her, and it smoked as it hit her hand.

I frowned, switching the cigarette to the other side of my mouth.

_Feels like silver._

She blinked at it, and I grinned.

"What a nice little doggy. He wants us to do it with _that_."

"T-then he brought us down here on purpose?!"

I snickered.

"Hmph! Looks like he's a war dog too. Wants to die. Let's give him what he wants then."

"You're one to talk Mr. Bernadette. And can you please stop smoking cigarettes inside me?"

I laughed, but before we could banter further I sensed something in the air shift.

"He's coming!"

The wolf-man shifted into mist form, and I felt her tense.

"Don't run! Take it head-on!"

"Right!"

The wolf-man's boot hit her right in the chest, her arms crossed over it protectively as we were sent flying back to rest against the shattered remnants of a tank.

"Now go! Go! Take him down! He needs to take physical form to attack!"

She dragged a missile from the ruins, throwing it end over end to the werewolf as he easily caught it with his foot and kicked it in half.

Seras shot in from above, hoping the smoke would cover her, but his head was tilted up and his body clearly ready.

_He read our moves!_

"It doesn't matter! Get him!"

She slugged his left arm off then turned and met his own punch, decimating her remaining arm –and his as well.

He didn't seem deterred at all, instantly lashing out with his foot, but she caught it in her fanged mouth.

"I got you!"

I flicked the silver tooth up, emerging from her fluid arm and feeling the heat of the real world once again as I caught it.

"Hey_ Monsieur_ Werewolf. Here's payback from someone, somewhere, fifty years ago. Keep the change."

I slammed my fist into his body, letting my fingers go as the silver entered his heart.

I pulled my hand back as blood gushed over his bare chest, flipping him the bird.

"That's what you get for playing with my woman. Your collar's gone too. _Adieu_, War Dog!"

He collapsed back, and I saw his bloody mouth open in a silent laugh.

The blue fire erupted and started to consume his body, and the shade of a large wolf rose from it with a mournful howl.

Mignonette stared in horror.

_It's as if he was a child awakening from a wonderful dream…then again, I suppose, for them, this is the night where their dreams come true._

"Right Mr. Bernadette?"

"Yeah, maybe. Go and put an end to it. No dream can last forever. Go!"

She turned and began to run further into the depths of the zeppelin as I lit another cigarette from the stub of my old one.

_Go and put an end to their dreams Seras. I'll be there to help you, like I promised._

* * *

_Prompt: I came for you._

"You'll be the offense."

"We'll be the defense."

You know, that sounded a lot simpler –and safer– when I said that earlier.

Big scary vampires stay on the outside of the nice big barricade, hot vampiress slaughters the bastards, and we cheer her on while contributing cover fire.

Or big scary vampires massacre most of my group, blow the nice safe barricade to shards with a panzerfaust round, and, as the tattooed he-male said, "launch the next one straight up our mercenary asses".

And the hot vampiress gets her arm sliced off as we lay there and bleed out like the gutless pussies we are.

You know, my grandpapa said that mercenaries were the scum of the earth.

We kill for pocket change, no, for the fun of it.

For all sorts of reasons, I've found someone else on the wrong end of my gun.

Bringing down a government or propping one up.

For homeland, or someone else's.

For family.

For a woman.

Maybe just food and drink.

So many damn reasons.

Some good, some bad.

A mercenary doesn't ask questions.

It's enough to know the other man's dying for something.

But that reason of his, whatever it was, wasn't really worth fighting for, maybe.

That's what my grandpapa said.

We march onto the chessboards of the world for mere pennies.

Kill for 'em.

Die for 'em.

But in the end, it ain't about the damn pennies.

He would've gone on, but right now, the pennies weren't what made me stay.

Eight generations of killers.

Eight generators of murders.

Grandpapa said that too.

Well, if I'm the last son in a line of murderer's, I might as well end with a bang.

I might be a bit of a thickheaded grunt sometimes, but even I know that I'm not walking out of here alive, even if I stay low and quiet until whatever's going on is all over.

_Mignonette_, no, Seras isn't going to make it either, not without help.

The scythe's going down…

I'm moving as fast as I can without alerting her to my presence…

"You first bitch!"

I slammed the stock of my rifle against her face, feeling the bones shatter.

_That's for all my men you __**hag**__!_

Scythe _swing _gun _block_ duck _down_!

I skidded backwards, drawing my Colt out as I did so.

_Last of the silver bullets. Hope you like the taste bitch!_

"Leave her alone!"

Six shots.

It feels really good, looking down at her body, crumpled and bleeding.

"That's enough of your shit. Stay down."

_Now, to pick up mignonette and head for the hills._

I grunted as I draped her over my shoulders, biting down harder on the fag in my mouth.

_Damn…either she's heavier than she looks or I'm weaker than I'd like…_

How many damn times had I walked down this same hallway to report to the Ice Queen and her English _bourgeois_?

But now it seemed so long and far away.

_Not good._

Struggle step, by step, by step, by step.

It was taking far too long for that damn door to get closer.

Then everything started to blur.

Scythe in body.

Body not responding.

Warmth in lap.

Mouth on mine.

Blood in mouth.

World going black.

Darkness.

_So this is death?_

_Damn you mignonette…I told you to drink me in-_

His eye suddenly opened.

The world around him was a swirling vortex of red and black, whispers echoing all around him.

Fragments of memory glimmered in the darkness, and his mouth twitched up as he lit another cigarette.

_Good job ma chère. Now let's go kill those bastards, like you killed the ones coming after us._


	14. Pip's Psyche

_Prompt: Best day of my life._

Pip Bernadette was many things.

But he was not a bum.

Well, he did have long periods of unemployment, but when he did, it was usually it a bar, with his men, and the lot of them were getting blind, stinking drunk off of the money they had earned from their last gig.

So, at the prospect of unemployment (aka when the money ran out and they woke up with hangovers), he was not a happy man.

Of course, that might've been the hangover.

But he was the leader, and he had told his men that he already had a job all lined up.

Well, sorta.

He had an interview scheduled.

Reaching over the sprawled drunk on his left, he picked up the phone and dialed the numbers on the advertisement he had his eyes on.

"Hello?"

"Is this Mr. Bernadette?"

"Yeah, and I was wondering, this job…it pays well."

"Yes it does sir. Very well."

He took a sip of the black coffee in front of him as he thought for a moment.

"And I was wondering just what exactly it is we do to get paid so well."

There was a second's pause on the other line, then a slight chuckle.

"You will be briefed on that when you arrive, but I can tell you it involves purifying the undead."

He spit the coffee out, wondering if perhaps the man on the other end was a loony.

"_Excusez-moi?__!_ Undead?! Like in Dracula?!"

"Exactly like sir. Are you still interested?"

He paused.

This gig was really high paying, and hey, targets were targets, and if this whack job thought they were vampires, well, that was his problem.

"Yeah…sure."

Later, he listened to his men express the same shock he had at the outrageous nature of their "job", only to be interrupted by a woman's voice.

"It's true. The enemies are immortal creatures who sustain themselves by drinking human blood. Your job gentlemen, is to fight these monsters with bullets, garlic, and holy water. Put a stake through its heart, cut off its head, burn the corpse, scatter the ashes at a crossroads. For further instructions, consult Bram Stoker."

"That's just ridiculous."

"Everyone knows there's no such thing as vampires."

This lady would not be deterred from her beliefs by a few dissenters, and I began to get a smug feeling.

This was turning out to be better than I thought it would.

"Then everyone is quite mistaken. Or more accurately, we've helped them maintain a state of blissful ignorance. For over a century the Hellsing Organization has served the British Empire, fighting a secret war against the forces of darkness. The _Vampire_ in particular. For those of you who still need convincing, I present to you a genuine vampire."

She swung her gloved finger over to the side, and I blinked.

Long legs.

Short skirt.

Huge tits.

Sweet face.

I grinned widely, all my misgivings displaced.

_This is a __**great**__ idea._

* * *

_Prompt: Non-existent. _

I yawned hugely, falling face-first onto my nice, soft bed and simply laying there, feeling as if every muscle in my body had turned to over-stretched taffy.

With a gargantuan effort, I managed to roll over so I wouldn't get smothered in the pillow, flicking my braid off my face as I did so.

I would've been out like a light in the next few seconds, but the cold horror of the night slowly started to creep up on me, despite my best efforts.

It always sounded so easy when you saw a zombie movie or read a book.

Just, aim for the head, and it was all over.

Don't get bitten.

Two simple little rules in a simple little world.

And in the real world, with ghouls (which as far as I was concerned were zombies in all but name), you even got the guarantee of the heart being a kill shot too.

Except the books and the movies left out the sheer _terror_ of combating living corpses.

First off, the reek.

The god-awful stench of _decay_ and _rot_ and _wrong_ that lingered about those groaning, shambling husks.

Oh yeah, that was something else the literature of today forgot too.

The _sounds._

In the movies, it was almost comical, a few groans and grunts that sounded like someone taking it up the tailpipe when on drugs.

In real life, it was an endless, churning, _hungry_ sound, and combined with the bony, rotting hands that clutched and grabbed the air inches from your face, was enough to make a lesser man wet his pants.

Head or heart.

Don't get bit.

Those were your gospels on the battlefield, and you prayed to God Almighty Himself if you thought it might save you from those drooling, sagging jaws.

Who usually manifested in either the towering, red-cloaked form of Alucard, or the mustard-yellow, stouter one of Seras, lugging that gigantic cannon behind her.

Those jaws.

Those teeth.

Those SOUNDS.

_Head or heart._

_Don't get bit._

He shook his head irritably, undoing his eyepatch and putting it on the side table.

It didn't matter, as long as he kept those jaws away from him and away from his men.

He turned out the light, kicking his boots off and closing his eye as he laid back.

_Head or heart. _

_Don't get bit._

His nightmares were constantly haunted by the shambling figures and their cackling masters, empty, soulless.

He dreamed sometimes of becoming them, of being hollow and non-existent as he tore open the throats of his comrades and _mignonette_.

_Head or heart._

_Don't get bit._

* * *

_Prompt: Never meant to last._

Pip raised his hat with a sleepy glare, seeing his source of light blocked out.

Then his grumpy expression brightened considerably, and he patted the chair beside him.

"Come to join me _ma chère_?"

Seras glowered at him from inside her pink hoodie, and he laughed sheepishly.

"Ah, apologies. I suppose vampires can't bask in sunlight like the rest of us."

Her bottom lip quavered, and he paused for a moment, trying to find a less gloomy comment.

"Nothing a little sunscreen can't fix though, eh?"

She shook her head, and he sighed before running a hand through the hair under his hand.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to make you depressed. I suppose I can push the chair into the shade though, hm?"

She brightened considerably, and he laughed a little as she joined him, eagerly pushing the other lawn chair into the shade of the porch.

"Mr. Bernadette, I thought you were supposed to be instructing your men?"

He pushed his hat back, crossing his legs as she sat beside him, pulling the hoodie down and breathing in a sigh of relief.

"I don't really see any difference than what we usually do. Head or heart only, and silver bullets instead of lead. You and _monsieur_ Alucard will be taking care of the FREAKs, so we really only need to kill ghouls, eh?"

"Well yes…"

"Exactly. And I for one am not one to waste a perfectly good afternoon sun indoors, thus here I am."

"The shooting range is outdoors."

He grinned cheekily, lighting a fag and putting it to his lips.

"_Oui_, but as I said, we know what to do, and besides, this is too comfortable to get up from."

Making a show of putting his arms behind his head, he stretched luxuriously and blew out a stream of nicotine onto the warm breeze.

"I need to rest and relax sometimes you know, and I don't believe Sir Integra would let me or the boys off on a holiday."

She laughed nervously.

"Probably not."

They sat in companionable silence for a while as he smoked his cigarette and enjoyed the presence of a lovely lady, as well as the afternoon sun warming his tired muscles.

"Maybe if we all go up and lobby her together we can wrench a beach holiday out of the Ice Queen."

Seras shoved him playfully.

"Don't call her that! And besides, both the sun_ and_ the water's very bad for me!"

He sighed mockingly and shook his head.

"Slap on some sunscreen and stay on the beach! Maybe you can play in the tide pools, since the water isn't running?"

She blinked, then beamed at him.

"That just might work!"

"Of course it will, I thought of it didn't I?"

This time they both laughed, and he stretched again, feeling sleepy and full of content.

Time crept by and he watched the sun set increment by increment as Seras chattered on and on, letting him answer and question as he pleased.

Suddenly she rose, pulling her hoodie back up and smiling at him.

"Thanks for the afternoon Mr. Bernadette, and maybe Integra'll let us do that beach thing sometime! Right now I gotta go train with Master."

And with that, she scurried off, and he raised a languid hand in farewell, waving a few times before dropping it.

He smirked as he pulled his cigarette out and blew a stream of smoke, sighing to himself.

_Good times go fast. I'll hold you to that beach offer, mignonette. _


	15. Iscariot's Missions

_**Sorry about the long absence, I was doing stuff. Important stuff. Really. (Okay maybe not so important, but it was rather more time consuming than I'd thought it would be.) For those of you who don't know this already (one picks it up rather fast if one listens to any kind of mythical or supernatural anime with English subs instead of a dub), oni is a very loose term that basically translates to "evil supernatural being". I think it depends on what context it's in, because I've seen it translate to ogre, demon, devil, monster, so on and so forth. So really, take your pick on what it is. I dunno. *shrug***_

* * *

_Prompt: Fingers touching glass._

Heinkel watched quietly as the ghouls' shambling steps sagged, came to a halt, and the groaning undead toppled and fell into gritty piles of ash.

She touched a lighter to the cigarette in her mouth, blowing out a long stream of smoke as she unconsciously smoothed a hand over the carved surface of the stone roof.

_Looks like Yumie finished the job._

She bent her knees and lightly jumped over the edge, landing perfectly on one of the many gargoyles perched, crow-like, on the walls of the sanctuary.

She jumped from there to the window, balancing easily on the thick sill.

She pressed her gloved fingers against the stained glass, tapping gently.

Through the colored tiles, she saw her partner hacking and slicing blindly through more of the ghouls, the ones that must have been made by a chipped vampire in the same group as the one they had just eliminated.

She tapped the communicator in her ear on.

"Yumie, job's done. Let Yumiko out."

The figure in the blood-spattered habit did not respond, wobbling slightly and giggling as it looked around for another target.

"Yumie! _Now_!"

A scuffle of movement caught both pairs of eyes, and Heinkel gritted her teeth as a small boy huddled closer against the pew he had wedged himself under.

Yumie instantly moved towards the sound, flicking her blade slightly to throw off the gory spatters of blood staining it.

"_Yumie stand down_!"

Yumie was a berserker.

A human predator.

Predators did not distinguish between "innocent" and "guilty".

Yumie, the predator, had seen and heard movement.

Movement meant prey.

Prey meant enemy.

Enemy meant kill.

Heinkel bashed her fist against the glass in frustration, calling louder into the radio.

"YUMIE!"

No response.

"YUMIE LET GO! LET YUMIKO OUT!"

The nun's pace picked up as she began to blur at the edges, and Heinkel pounded on the glass with both hands in frustration, calling out both names in helpless fury.

A crack interrupted her frantic shouts, and she slowly looked up to see the crimson, emerald, and sapphire glass splintering and fracturing, the cracks spreading outwards slowly.

_OH SCHEISSE!_

The window shattered, and she barely saved herself by grabbing onto the sill.

"**YUMIE STAND DOWN RIGHT NOW**!"

The blur stopped, and the nun's head turned as the rose-red eyes softened and turned brown.

"H…Heinkel?"

Heinkel steadied herself, then nodded and jumped down into the now abandoned chapel, hearing racking sobs as the boy fled God-knew-where.

Yumiko turned towards the sound, feeling the urge to soothe and protect, but Heinkel rested a hand on her shoulder.

"C'mon Yumiko. Let's go home."

She nodded slightly, and they walked out, squinting slightly as the sun peeped over the edge of the dark buildings.

_Another job finished._

_Another sleepless night._

* * *

_Prompt: I feel like..._

The first conscious time had been equally, the most terrifying and the best of her life.

Yumiko had been sweet and shy for all her life, and her thick glasses stayed perched on her nose every waking second, no matter what.

Her parents had insisted, although she was never suspicious why.

After all, she was probably as blind as bat without them, judging from how sturdy they were.

But they had died many years ago, and now, as a young teenager, she was studying to be a nun in Italy.

Her father had been from Wales, her mother a native of Japan.

Like a good wife, she had insisted that he take her back to _his_ home country, and there they had stayed, until Yumiko was about five years old.

She didn't remember anything about the incident, only the fact she had woken up in a pool of blood, her glasses askew on her nose and her parents lying dead, cut to pieces.

She had been sent to an orphanage in Wales, but she hadn't fit in there.

People had pointed and whispered about what happened at home, and one of the matrons had remembered a place in Rome where the head priest was kind and understanding, and all the children were given loving homes.

So little Yumiko had gone, and to her delight there were pictures and statues of her beloved father's religion everywhere.

She had brought but one thing from her mother, and that was the katana she had passed down from her seven-times-great-grandmother.

Mother had told her it was pure blessed silver, and her clan had used it many times to defeat _oni_ and other evil creatures.

Yumiko had never been sure, until that night, of whether or not her mother had just been telling bedtime stories or the sword really _was_ a relic from warlike ages.

The night had started out normally.

Yumiko had finished praying in the chapel, and was heading home through the streets to her dormitory.

She had brought the sword to Father Anderson, if only because her roommates were getting suspicious of the oblong box she kept under her bed.

He had calmly told her to keep it, saying that it was very important to _her_ family, not his, and so she carried it home, locked firmly in the mahogany case so that passerby would not be alarmed by her going armed amongst them.

She didn't know how to use it of course, but it still wouldn't stop people from being alarmed.

Suddenly the warm night air seemed _off_, and she stopped uncertainly.

Dark chuckles echoed around her as her eyes widened behind her thick glasses, and she clutched the sword case to her body worriedly.

Seven men and women slipped out from the alleyways and dark doors around her, all holding some kind of weapon.

"Softly now. No struggling."

Of course, panicking, she did exactly that as they grabbed her, and her sword case fell from her arms as her eyes widened further in horror.

That was Mother's!

They mustn't harm it!

She reached for it, but her arms were wrenched around and pinned behind her back as one of them inspected the case with a nasty grin, and her knees went weak with terror.

Were those _fangs_?!

"Wadda got here?"

She squirmed uncertainly, not sure of how to answer.

"Just a case…"

They all laughed, and the man by her sword case made a motion with his hand.

She yelped as she was thrown into a crowd of them, and in the jostling, pulling, and _grabbing_ that followed, her glasses slipped from her nose and shattered on the ground.

The first thing she registered was feeling the now-chilly night air as if for the first time in months, breathing a long draft of it in desperately.

Then something strange happened.

She felt angry.

These _people_ were groping and grabbing and they had her mother's sword, one of the few things she had from her family.

No, not _her_ sword.

Yumie's sword.

Yumiko wasn't there anymore.

Yumie was angry.

Yumie was _very_ angry.

These people had dared to take her _katana_!

Hers!

Not theirs!

_Hers_!

She elbowed free of the two men holding her with a feral snarl, and lunged for the case, snatching it from the hands of the stunned leader and breaking the flimsy box over her knee, lovingly pulling her blade from the splinters.

She grinned at them, pulling the blade free of the sheath and flicking her sword a few times as she reassessed the balance and weight.

Yes, it was the same as it had always been.

The family had taken good care of it for her.

She crouched with a grin, her eyes sparking.

Now, who was ready to take the punishment for touching her beloved sword?

More _oni_ to send to hell.

* * *

_Prompt: Did you see?_

"Father Anderson! Father Anderson! There's a doggy!"

Anderson looked up from his book, seeing Mark and Nepis with their faces pressed to the window, eyes wide with awe.

He got up with a theatrical groan, cracking his neck.

Sometimes he had to pander to himself a little, feeling his age.

"You both know what the dorm mother says about pets." he chastised as he moved to the window, and their faces fell in identical disappointment.

"But look! He's probably cold and lonely!"

His rolled his eyes, scanning the darkening world outside, and a muscle in his jaw tensed as he saw the lupine form lurking just outside the light of the orphanage's windows.

Those eyes were far too intelligent and far too crimson for comfort.

And that body was far too big and dark for an ordinary dog or wolf.

"So do you see him Father? Do you see him?"

He nodded tersely, managing to wrench his features into a smile that felt more like a grimace.

"He's still far too big to keep here. Why don't you two run along, I'll see what I can do to see him off."

They pouted a little, but scampered off in search of a playmate to boast of their discovery to.

He adjusted his grip on the handles that slid into his hands, and went out to do battle with the demon outside.

Several hours later, he was still trying to get the blood from his clothes.

Vampire blood was notoriously difficult to get out of fabric.


	16. Seras's Development

_**Whoot! I'M BACK BABY! MUHAHAHAHAHAHA!**_

* * *

_Prompt: Are you proud of me?_

"Now Seras, you shouldn't be playing with daddy's stuff like this."

Seras protested and squirmed as her gently pulled the gun out of her hands.

"I almost got it! See! See!"

She pointed to the small hole in the target as her father squinted and shaded his eyes, then grinned.

"I see it princess; look at what a good shot you are! Who's daddy's little princess!"

He scooped her up and hugged her tightly as she laughed and hugged him back.

Seras's father had taken her to his work place –the local police station– for the "Take Your Kid to Work Day" and she had _somehow_ gotten onto the soothing range and convinced one of the other officers to teach her to shoot.

She smiled brightly at him as he put her down, and she suddenly darted forward and hugged his knees.

"When I grow up, I'm gonna be a cop just like you!"

And she meant it.

* * *

_Prompt: Never stop. _

Slice.

Jump.

Hack.

Kick.

Shoot.

Seras launched herself forward, her jaws clamping down on a leftover vampire's neck and greedily drawing it in, replenishing the energy she seemed to lose by the second.

Once the drained carcass fell to the ground, she blew her bangs out of the way and looked around.

Ghoul and vampire ash littered the streets amidst large streaks and splatters of blood, the buildings all in ruins or severely damaged by flames.

It looked like London had been cracked open and torn apart and now the very blood of the city ran under her booted feet.

The fires had mostly burned out by now, and she sucked in a deep, unneeded breath as she wiped her sweaty forehead.

_Is today the fourth day? Or the fifth?_

_The seventh?_

_How…how long have I been doing this?_

"Officer Victoria, is there a problem?"

She immediately straightened.

Integra had been even more cranky since the doctors determined that her eye was well and truly lost and was currently in the nearest operational hospital to the ruined city, forcibly bedridden by the doctors, although with dozens of computers and phones to control the situation.

She would not appreciate a negative report.

"No sir. Just catching my breath."

"Well then get moving. The official story is that some terrorists with a new kind of nuclear bomb blew the city apart and contaminated the population that it didn't kill with cannibalism problems. The longer we delay killing the ghouls, the greater the chance that some amateur cameraman or teen with a videophone stumbles onto something we can't hide."

"Yes sir."

Seras launched herself off, sweeping with her heightened senses for the slightest movement or the faintest breath.

It was beyond unlikely that anyone had survived this long of course, but it never hurt to check.

This area was clear of ghouls and vampires…for now at least.

She knew that there would be more.

It didn't matter if it took a day, an hour, or a minute, but when she was off killing them somewhere else they would creep back over the places she had already scoured clean.

It was all the military could do to contain them in London.

A single bloody tear ran down her cheek, but she shook her head irritably, forcing the emotions away.

Her hometown may be in ruins, but she needed to continue, needed to stop these monsters from spreading around the countryside and infecting the innocents she protected.

She slashed her shadow arm out, watching as it spread like a stain on the air, plunging down to the street again in a crowd of ghouls as the mayhem started again.

She would never stop.

She would never let them escape.

She would kill every last monster threatening her home until Master came home and she could protect them alongside him.

Blood flew up and spattered her face and her merciless red eyes.

All of them would die.

* * *

_Prompt: Countdown._

Seras dodged the new bloke Integra had hired to temporarily replace the man who had replaced Walter, who had taken sick leave for the next eight weeks on account of his injuries.

Damn Iscariots and their damn weaponized temper tantrums.

She raced up the stairs, skidding to a halt and closing her eyes as the sun broke over the horizon, feeling the familiar sting on her skin.

_I made it. 12 years today._

She half smiled, half sighed, and turned her face up to the scalding rays of the sun.

She had kept up this ritual every year since Alucard had vanished, and she had every intention of continuing it until he came home.

Sir Integra hadn't changed in the least, except her hair slowly going from honey blonde to a pale ash, a precursor to the white it would no doubt become.

She could tell her master was slowly losing hope that Alucard would return.

Now, it was just doubt.

It would probably take another decade or so for the Iron Maiden to truly stop believing that her No-Life-King would return.

Now she just found it unlikely.

Seras found it positive.

Master _would_ come back.

That was all there was to it.

She felt the two tiny scars on her neck absently, sliding her gloved fingers under her uniform collar.

_Master bit me. He'll come back._

_I know it._


	17. Integra's Psyche

_**I saw the first volume of Kill Bill recently…so that speech the one lady made stuck in my head…and I took the scene where Integra meets Alucard (or at least when she first sees him) from the manga instead of the OVA or the TV show. That's why the dialogue is slightly different than normal.**_

* * *

_Prompt: Whispers._

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

"Arthur's daughter; looks the spitting image of her mother."

Tap.

Tap.

Tap,

"Poor child. Twelve years old and an heiress of a military organization. Of _that_ military organization."

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

"That look in her eyes; it's like she's all ice inside. What happened to her when her uncle died?"

The whispers.

They were everywhere.

Integra kept her back straight and her shoulders set purposefully, ignoring the murmurs and conversations going on around her.

Eyes set dead ahead, towards the eternal goal she was working towards.

She would represent the Hellsing line and its organization to the very best of her twelve-year-old abilities.

She coldly sat down at the table, leaning forward to address the murmuring nobles, none of which had noticed her taking her seat.

"Gentlemen, my name is Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing. I will not tolerate gossip about myself nor my family. If one of you has something they wish to say about either, you will say it _to my face_. Am I understood?"

All the men around the table turned their heads and stared at her in abject shock.

They had perhaps never in their entire cosseted lives been scolded, never mind commanded.

And certainly never with the chilling confidence that she had done it in.

"Madam! With all due respect, this is a conference of intelligent men and women-"

She tampered down the smirk.

_Women being me and who, exactly? I'm the only female here and we all know it._

"-and we mean no ill will towards any one person on this council. Please, try and be a little more diplomatic."

Empty bluster.

Her eyes sharpened behind the lenses of her silver glasses.

"_Diplomatic_? With all due respect to _you_, Sir Dickinson, respect means you will refer to me with my given title, Sir Integra. I do not demand any more respect than any of you gentlemen, but I also will not allow any _less_. You know what Hellsing is and you know what Hellsing does. Our services are to the Queen and the Church exclusively, and I will _not_ have any of you attempt to hold the reins of _my_ organization because of my so-called age impediment. I am just as capable –_more_ capable – than any of you to command my troops. I am also the only one the vampire Alucard has acknowledged as his master."

She could practically feel Walter's amusement at her back as she spoke, and quieted her own, seeing the steadily reddening faces of her colleagues.

"In short gentlemen, Hellsing is _my _organization and _my_ position, and I will not be coddled nor become a figurehead for _anyone_ or _anything_. Am I understood?"

She didn't give them a chance to answer.

"Good. By your leave gentlemen, good day."

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

More of the whispers followed her out, but with luck, she had made her point clear.

* * *

_Prompt: I'm not ready to give up. _

Integra scowled in the air vents above her uncle and his men.

_You're nothing more than a bloody rotten scumbag, uncle! It hasn't even been a week since Father died!_

One looked up, and she quickly ducked away from the grill and continued on her way, shivering at the chilly, dry air in the duct.

_I'm scared! What…what if they catch me?!_

Her whole body froze up, and it was only with a short gasp that she was able to continue moving, squeezing her eyes shut in fear.

_No! Don't think about that! You're going to live! You're going to live!_

She craned her neck to look around a corner, then proceeded to the right.

_If memory serves, this is the way to the dudgeon entrance. What did Father hide down there that'll help me with __**this**__?_

Dropping down as silently as she could, she opened the heavy door and dragged it closed, quickly darting down the stone steps.

Lights flickered on automatically as she touched the bottom.

_Dark arts laboratory, library, specimen room, torture chamber, dissecting room, and a dungeon. I should be safest in the dungeon; it's the lowest down after all._

She came to the last cell in the deepest part of the dungeon, hauling the door open and edging inside, then closing it with a soft _thunk_.

_Even down here its likely just a matter of time…_

She slide down against the wall with a tiny sigh.

Then something to the right caught her vision, and she paled.

"What in blazes?!"

It looked like…a corpse.

A man in some kind of strange straightjacket-uniform was chained to the wall.

_A corpse…is he dead? _

She scooted closer, and her face crumpled in exasperation, remembering her father's words.

_Oh father…a dried up corpse? __**This**__ is supposed to protect me?_

She sighed and leaned closer to the corpse's head politely.

"Right, I've got nowhere else to run. Would you mind if I shared the cell with you, sir?"

Obviously it gave no response as she leaned against the wall beside it.

_Fat lot of good being a Hellsing does me now. I'm stuck in the dungeon of my own mansion with my uncle after me and nothing but a corpse for company._

She stifled the tears before they came.

_They might hear it. I'm so scared…I thought a knight or something would be down here to protect me from the bad guys._

She curled up, resting her nose against the fabric of her long skirt.

"I don't want to die…I really don't."

* * *

_Prompt: It's not about fighting. _

I didn't cough as the smoke cleared from Seras's gigantic shot from the 88 mm.

Glass fell in shards around me as I started walking forward.

I stopped directly in the middle of the Nazi symbol on the floor

"It's over Major."

"It…appears so. Why…its far from…"

I caught a glimpse of bloodied _metal_ and shining _gears._

"That's…that's you, Major?"

Of_ course. _He was a machine this whole time.

"Yes. This is me."

"A machine?!"

Seras was clearly caught off guard.

The Major tsked as I heard the gears clicking and clacking, systems valiantly trying to work when they were shattered beyond all repair.

"You should mind…your manners…little girl. I am a human being."

No. No human would contrive this sort of carnage, this sort of sick and heartless war.

"You monster…you're a monster."

"No. I am human. A human is only human for one reason. His will. Poor Alucard needed blood to maintain his soul and continually consumed others to survive. That is what you call a monster. Do not compare me to something so weak. So long as I have my will, even if I am nothing more than a brain floating in a jar of culture fluid, or nothing more than a giant computer's memory circuit, _I am human_. A human life is a soul, a heart, a will."

_No_. Humans were humans because they could forgive, because they had mercy. Monsters had no mercy and monsters did not repent or forgive.

"Even if he smiles in the form of a little girl, or falls on his knees in the form of a veteran warrior, he is a monster. That is why I hated him wholeheartedly. I do not approve of the vampire, Alucard."

He reached up towards his mad world, to whatever insane requiem he saw, his single remaining eye seemingly running me through with his piercing madness.

"He is a human-like monster and I am probably a monster-like human. _I am me_. This side and that side. You and I are different. Every war in this world amounts to just that. Ever since humans were born of this rock. You, too, think we are different. We declared war on each other long ago. Now, let us wage it!"

There was a moment of silence as his clenched fist relaxed and I yanked my brown overcoat off, answering with the gun strapped to my hip.

He smirked with his bloodied mouth and I began walking forward, drawing my gun with a quick movement.

He reached for his own and drew it as I silently counted my own steps, trying to keep calm.

_It isn't about black and white. It isn't about right and wrong. I don't care about whether or not you consider me or yourself a monster. You __**are**__ a monster. And as the human, I have to destroy you._

Gunshots started scattering around me.

_Only humans can find the strength of will and soul to fight a monster to the death. Only a human can bear the weight of sin without succumbing to the power inhumanity can give. Only humans can abandon everything and everyone they care about-_

I stopped and we fired at the same time.

_-to deliver that final blow._


	18. Seras & Pip

_**I know not how this is something we can get in trouble for, since the whole fricking site is a copywrite issue, but I do not own the song or its lyrics. (Regret Message by Rin Kagamine. Dub by someone else whom I can't remember.) So there. *raspberry***_

* * *

_Prompt: Love story._

"Okay, so if French is the language of love, what's love?"

Pip nearly choked on his inhale of nicotine as he coughed a few times, then blearily looked at the Police Girl, her arms folded firmly and an aggressive tilt to her body.

"Love is not something one just discusses!" he barked defensively, and there was a chuckle from the men around him.

"Translation: Love is a good lay."

"Love is anywhere with a bed and a bottle."

"Love is an unattainable fantasy that poets came up with to satisfy Shakespeare audiences."

"Good lay."

"Love is a good gun."

Pip rolled his eyes as they put in one comment after another, all of them incorrect.

"Listen Seras, love is something that everyone finds differently. French people are just better at it than everyone else."

She giggled a little, and he grinned and leaned closer to her.

"Of course, we have many ways of discovering it-"

She squealed as he whispered something in French and slapped him, sending him into one of the vans with a thud.

"PERVERT!"

* * *

_Prompt: Breakup song _

Seras sniffled as she buried her face in the soft pillow in her coffin-bed.

"_You who granted me my every single wish, are no longer here with me…_"

She choked on her sobs and wailed into the pillow, covering it in her bloody tears.

"_On this blue sea, will all my feelings arrive to where you are?_"

Gone.

Gone.

Gone.

The word echoed like the hollow boom of a slammed door in her heart.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

"_Flow along, little wish, and please don't take too long, to take away my tears and all my regret_."

He was gone.

That _monster_ had killed him.

"_It was too late by then, to fix my sins, when they'd taken you far from me._"

What would happen to him?

What happened to familiars when they died?

Would he go to hell?

"_Flow along, glass bottle, and please don't take too long, cuz what I want the most is in that message_."

She sobbed harder into the pillow.

He didn't _deserve_ to go to hell!

He was a good man!

A good man!

"_And on the other side of this sunset, right there, my wish will disappear_."

Had she damned him by drinking his blood?

Would he go to hell because of her?

Was it all her fault?!

Seras lay in her coffin and sobbed.

"_Flow along, little wish, and please don't take too long, to take away my tears and all my regret_."

* * *

_Prompt: Soon enough._

"Go away!"

"-I don't know what I've been told, Eskimo-"

"SHUT UP!"

"-tastes good! Real good! Good for you-"

"WHAT WILL IT BLOODY TAKE FOR YOU TO SHUT UP?!"

Pip and his men ground to a halt as the fuming vampiress faced them.

"Well…" Pip purred, his remaining eye lowering suggestively.

Seras turned pink, but continued to scowl and glare at the ragtag mercenary gang.

"A kiss!"

She sweatdropped at the triumphant announcement, turning and stomping down to the basement without a further word.

Pip had been trying nearly 24/7 to get her to kiss him _somewhere_ since that unfortunate incident with the finger-flicking at their first meeting.

And it was starting to get on her nerves.

"Go on and run away mignonette! I'll get a kiss from you someday!"

_And my little dog too?_

She grinned at the thought, closing the door on her basement room and relaxing in the blessed silence.

Pip as the Wicked Witch of the West was an amusing image.


	19. Leaders (Young)

_**Going onto another list since the last one was finished and I find this kinda fun. Okay, really fun. Melatonin is a real medicine for sleep; it's a natural hormone-extract-thingy. I should know, I take one at least once a week. I don't know if insomniacs use it (I just have trouble GETTING asleep sometimes) but I suppose it probably would help them if they did. Major Montona Max is the Major's semi-official nickname/name, his prototype manga character was named that and I suppose it just kinda stuck. (Although it is not his OFFICIAL name. Just like the Captain's official name is never shown or told, but he's labeled Hans Gunsche because HIS prototype character was named the same.)**_

* * *

_Prompt: Violinist. (Or violin)_

Maxwell, age nine, sat absolutely still as the music rose and fell all around him.

Father Anderson had taken the older orphans to an opera.

The violins were striking a chord in the young boy, and he leaned over his seat to try and glimpse the violinists, not caring what was happening on the stage.

No matter what the orchestra played, the violins were always part of it, always distinguishable from the rest.

They played rapid and difficult sequences all throughout the songs, higher and lower.

He slowly blinked his empty violet eyes.

_If I was an instrument, I would like to be a violin._

_They stand out without becoming unnecessarily loud and repetitive. _

_They blend in without becoming part of the background music._

_They are elegant and can be played in many different ranges. _

He hardly noticed when the opera ended and they were dragged away.

He looked up coldly at his guardian and waited to be acknowledged.

"Father Anderson, may I learn to play the violin?"

He would become great.

No one would look down on him.

He would be more than the abandoned bastard son.

But in the meantime, he would play the violin.

* * *

_Prompt: Insomniac. _

"Integra? What are you doing up?"

Integra blinked guiltily and lowered herself from the stool.

"I'm trying to get the melatonin father. I can't sleep…again."

She looked down and scuffed a bare foot across the kitchen tiles as her father laughed and strode to the cabinet she had been trying to reach.

"See this?"

He held out the bottle and she squinted in confusion.

"It's the melatonin father. It helps me sleep when I can't."

"Yes, its medicine. Do you know why you take this instead of any other kind?"

She rubbed her forehead under her thick new glasses.

"Because it doesn't taste nasty like the others?"

"That too."

There was amusement in his voice.

"The reason why you have melatonin is because it's not addictive. Some medicines work wonders, but those ones are also dangerous. Because once you taste them, you crave them. You'll do anything to get them."

The amusement slowly dropped from his tone as she straightened, knowing it was his "teaching voice" that she was listening to now and she must pay attention.

Then she frowned.

"Then why are all those doctors giving you medicine if it's addictive?"

He reached down and ruffled her hair.

"Because sometimes you need the addictive medicine to live, like a drunk needs liquor. I certainly do."

Her blue eyes widened.

"You're dying?!"

He waved his hands with his usual booming laugh.

"Of course not, I'm just a little under the weather. Think of me as an auto. I just need a little fine-tuning or I'm going to break down."

She took the pill he handed to her and made a face before gulping it down.

"So the doctors will go away soon?"

He nodded, shaking his own pill onto his broad palm.

"Besides, sometimes you can shake off the addiction. I already locked my liquor away in a place where I can find it if I need it, but far enough away to avoid temptation."

She yawned silently, waving goodbye to him as she trudged off to her room.

She could think about it tomorrow.

Tonight she needed to sleep.

* * *

_Paper aeroplane._

Max carried his new paper aeroplane to the water's edge.

He had saved up for three weeks to buy the paper and instruction manual.

But he suddenly stopped in the shadow of a weeping willow for a moment, seeing movement where none should be.

He was _going_ to fly his paper aeroplane in an abandoned field where no trees and no people could catch or steal it.

So what was this?

His yellow eyes blinked curiously as they saw a butterfly hovering over a white flower.

The butterfly was a kind he had never seen before, crimson red with faint flashes and glints of sulfur yellow and darkest black on its widespread wings.

He shrugged and turned away, drawing his arm back to fly the aeroplane.

A sudden gust of wind snatched it from his hand, and he whirled, going off like a shot to catch the precious toy before it could be sodden with water from the dew-damp ground.

He slowed and stopped, seeing it had been caught in some bushes and was hanging safely off the wet ground.

As he bent to pick it up, the butterfly suddenly exploded from the bush, hitting his face and blinding him with its colors.

He froze.

_Gunfire._

_Screams._

_Flashes of yellow and red and black._

_Burning city._

_Dead._

_Bloody ground._

_Mother._

_Father._

_The cold, dead gun that had fired the shots clutched tightly in his five-year old hands as he stared up at the blood-streaked sky, tears running down his face._

_Mother and Father…_

_Traitors._

_They had betrayed Germany to bring "peace"._

_To surrender._

_The kickback from the gun hurt no more than the hole in his heart._

_He had been whelped by such betrayers._

_He was the get of filthy traitors._

_He looked at their dead, shocked faces, and spat in them._

_He was loyal to the Fatherland. _

_That was his first time to doubt the worth of peace._

Max's eyes shot open, and he put a hand to his cheek mechanically.

He had been crying at the memory.

Callously, he wiped the fallen tears away with the back of his hand and retrieved his aeroplane.

He had just enough time to fly it before he went back home.


	20. Millennium (Young)

_Prompt: Dandelion seed._

Hans silently twirled the dandelion stem in his hand.

The feathery little seeds popped off and drifted away as his hand spun faster, faster.

_If you make a wish on a dandelion seed, it'll come true!_

What should he wish for?

He had a warm hearth waiting for him at home.

His food had always been there on the table for him.

His mother and his father were perfectly content with him and each other.

Absently, his tanned hand scratched at the familiar pink crescent on his bare ankle.

The bite mark still itched after several moons of healing.

_Maybe for hunters to kill that rouge wolf?_

_No…it only bit me because I was between it and its cubs._

A tiny grin found its way onto his face.

_Besides, I bit it back. Nobody's ever done that before._

He finally stopped twirling the dandelion and looked at its bedraggled white head.

_I just want my life to continue as is, if that's not too much to ask._

He blew.

* * *

_Prompt: Feather. _

He leaped after the bird, his empty stomach _gnawing_ and _clawing_ at his ribs in its hunger.

It flew away with a rancorous coo, and he dropped back down to the filthy streets, his stomach continuing to rumble like the approaching stormclouds.

Soon rain poured down over the empty streets as the rich and the favored hurried by, and inside his alley, the boy shivered and moaned in pitiful hunger.

"Ah! There you are!"

He snarled and launched himself out of the box.

Anyone who wasn't speaking like him looking for someone like him meant trouble.

Before he could get halfway out of his box, a hand snatched his dirty shirt collar and he hung in the air like a drowned kitten, his overgrown blonde hair plastered to his scalp by the torrential rain.

"Do you know what this is?"

A feather was waved under his nose, and he squinted in confusion.

It looked like one from the bird he had eaten a week ago…right before-

His eyes widened in terror and he thrashed, realizing who must've been looking for him.

"You know, I do not truly understand why you broke into my lab for food when there was a diner nearby. You are either a very foolish or a very lucky child."

His hazy eyes narrowed.

"Lucky?! Whatever was in that foul place tasted _disgusting_!" he spat, and thunder crashed as there was an ominous chuckle from behind him.

"You're a very lucky young boy because what you ate was not designed for consumption. In all honesty, I expected to find a corpse. A reanimated one perhaps, but a corpse all the same. Have you died recently?"

"I'm too hungry to be dead."

His answer seemed to amuse the lanky man, and as he turned gently in the man's grip, he saw a glimpse of multi-layered glasses.

"How about you come and work for me? You'll be given food to eat and a place to sleep. All I want to do is study that liquid you ingested. Do you have a name?"

He squirmed uncertainly.

What was the worst that could happen?

Life on the streets was as bad as it could get, he was sure.

"Don't have one."

He was set down, and a gloved hand ruffled his sopping wet hair.

"The let's call you Schrodinger, because you came out of the box when I thought you were dead."

The doctor's –he seemed to be a doctor anyway– glasses suddenly acquired an ominous gleam as the newly dubbed Schrodinger felt that this was perhaps not the wisest of decisions.

"And perhaps we can even enhance what you have already become."

In the weeks and months and years to follow, Schrodinger was never sure whether to curse or bless the feather that had tipped Doc off about his visit to the lab and his consumption of the forbidden chemicals.

* * *

_Prompt: She sings._

Rip clung to her brother's hand as their elder sister sang on the stage.

"She's really good!"

"Shhh!"

Rip obediently silenced herself.

Rip, age seven, and her brother, age ten, had the same blue-black hair, the same as the nineteen-year-old on stage had as she sang.

Rip's crystal-clear blue eyes followed her sibling worshipfully as she sang.

Rip wanted nothing more than to be like her elder siblings.

Her brother was the best shot in the entire town, and her sister's singing put the angel's to shame, or at least, in Rip's opinion.

Most everyone else's too.

"I'm going to learn to sing like that someday! You just wait! I'll sing opera as I hunt!"

She tugged on his arm to get him to pay attention to her vow as his eyes moved down and he chuckled.

Her brother gave her skull a noogie.

"Then you'll scare all the animals away, idiot!"

"Nu uh! I'll shoot them before they can!"

"SHHH!"

They both shut up this time.

Rip pouted, then squirmed out of the crowd and went to sit on the balcony outside.

Grandpapa was there, and he leaned forward in his creaky old chair to peer nearsightedly at her face.

She glanced at him nervously.

Although she would never admit it, Grandpapa scared her.

Maybe it was his age, or his crankiness, or his giant scar that went from chin to scalp, across one eye.

"I'm gonna be a hunter one day! I'll be the best!"

He snorted and leaned back in his chair, laying his knobby walking stick across his knees.

"I will! And I'll sing even better than my big sister! I'll sing better than the angels and shoot better than-ouch!"

He had cracked her across the head with his stick.

"_Those who test God do so in sin_. Don't go blathering about such things."

The feral, almost possessed hiss from his withered lips scared her more than normal, and she subsided into grudging silenced, rubbing her sore skull.

Suddenly he was back to his old, curmudgeonly self, and he crossed one knee over the other as he flicked open a newspaper.

"Read up on _Der Freischütz_. Better yet, get that flibbertigibbet sister of yours to take you to a showing of it._ Then _you talk to me about your castles in the sky."


	21. Iscariot (Young)

_**It occurs to me that nobody really knows when anyone from Millennium was born, since they're all vampires and thus could've lived significantly longer than all the others. And nobody knows when Anderson was born either, since he's a regenerator and has looked the same since Maxwell, Yumiko/Yumie, and Heinkel were kids, and they're all in their late twenties/thirty range for age. Weird right? Just a thought I happened to have.**_

* * *

_Prompt: Dragonfly toes._

"Eep!"

Yumiko froze, her eyes crossed to rest on the insect-like creature currently residing upon her button nose.

"H-Heinkel! Get it off!"

She trembled with the urge to flee but didn't move a muscle, and her companion peered at the bug on her nose.

"It's just a dragonfly Yumiko."

"His feet tickle! Get him off! Get him off!"

Heinkel calmly put her pointer finger beside Yumiko's nose and the dragonfly considered it, then hopped over.

Yumiko's scrunched-up face relaxed as her friend brought the delicate creature up to her own face to inspect it.

"His wings are so pretty. I wonder how he flies on them?"

Yumiko covered her nose as a precaution before leaning closer as well.

"You know, he is kinda cute when he isn't on my nose."

Heinkel suddenly stiffened and shrieked, trying to shake the dragonfly off her finger as it clung to her like a demented ring.

"What's wrong?!"

"HIS FEET! THEY TICKLE! THEY TICKLE!"

Yumiko stared at her friend for a full minute, then collapsed on her rear and laughed, making the blonde curse childishly and finally fling the bug off, shaking her fist at it as it flew off over the grounds.

"And don't come back!"

* * *

_Prompt: A stolen ring. _

Maxwell looked down at the shouting people without any remorse.

Madame said he wasn't her child and she was married to his father.

She had shown him her big fat ring and said that it proved he was no legitimate son.

So he had snatched it right off her fat finger when she was napping and threw it in the fishpond.

"Maxwell, did you touch your mother's ring?"

The servants blinked down at him like the brainless sheep they were.

"No. I wasn't anywhere near mother recently."

Lying through his teeth.

Finally his father found him and dismissed entirely with interrogation.

"WHERE DID YOU PUT IT!"

He was dragged up by his shirt as his father's furious face glared into his own.

He remained cold and calm.

"I put it where it belongs. In the fishpond."

He was thrown up against his bedroom wall as his father stormed out.

He got up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

_I can't wait to get out of here._

* * *

_Prompt: Broken wristwatch._

"What are your sins, child?"

Alexander Anderson squirmed in his seat, rubbing his upper arm.

"I…I broke my father's new wristwatch."

His shameful murmur was caught by the priest on the other side of the screen, and he caught a murmur of cloth as the older man shifted.

"His watch?"

"Yes. It was new, and he told me I could have it for a little while, but then I dropped it on the concrete and the back opened and a bunch of gears came out and-"

"Peace, peace my child. You came to repent this, didn't you?"

He started in panic.

"Yes!"

His father would be furious if he found out; at least he could have the meager comfort that God forgave him!

"Well, it was just an accident, wasn't it?"

He nodded, then realized that the priest on the other side of the box couldn't hear a nod.

"Yes…"

"Well then. You know the Lord's prayer, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Recite it twelve times and tell your father the truth. I don't think he will be too mad at you."

"Yes sir! I mean, thank you Father."

He scooted off the bench and quickly scampered out into the bright sunlight, already chanting the familiar words over and over again in his head.


	22. Seras's Childhood

_**I actually have had my teeth knocked out, but luckily for me they were already loose and not my adult ones. It was Christmas actually, my family was at my great-aunt's and I fell head over heels (literally, I somersaulted) down the stairs and I hit the last step at just the right angle and knocked both front teeth out. One chipped. I did start crying, but it was mostly out of shock. It didn't hurt very much at all, and I don't remember any blood. (This was like when I was four/seven or something in that range) My sister had her front teeth hurt too, twice. She fell down when roller skating…twice. First time I was home sick, so she came back with her front teeth chipped almost just like a vampire's. Another time I wasn't home and she fell down AGAIN (she just doesn't want to use her arms to break her fall 'cause she's scared of breaking them…and seems to forget that her teeth are going to chip if she doesn't…) and broke THE SAME TEETH AGAIN and mom had to go pick her up. It was actually kinda funny, apparently everyone else was freaking out and asking her why she was so calm 'cause my little sister was bleeding all over the place, but she just said "This is the second time in as many months…" Unfortunately for my little sister, it was her big teeth, so she had to have them fixed both times. (PS: For Seras's birth sign, totally made it up, since it was the one that fit her the closest)**_

* * *

_Prompt: Missing tooth._

"Ouch!"

Seras tripped and fell face-first on the stony ground, then whimpered and sat up, clutching her mouth.

"DADDY! MUMMY! MY TOOTH! MY TOOTH!"

She cried at the stinging sensation in her mouth, and her mother suddenly scooped her up in her arms.

"My toof hurs…"

Her speech was becoming slightly garbled from her sobbing and the blood in her mouth, as well as her reluctance to move her tongue for fear of brushing it against her broken tooth.

Her mother squinted at her mouth, then gently pried it open.

"Let me see…"

Seras whimpered, tears pouring down her face as the freezing air whistled past the spot where her tooth had been.

Her mother sighed and ruffled her hair.

"Looks like you knocked that loose tooth out, now why don't we go inside and clean you up?"

She sniffled and took her mother's hand, letting her lead her inside the house.

She took the offered napkin hesitantly, gingerly pressing it to her bleeding cavity and whimpering as it touched her tender gum.

Her mother smiled at her brightly as she washed her hands off.

"At least you get a visit from the tooth fairy!"

Seras brightened at that, then frowned.

"Bu isn't she gonna nok com 'cause I hav no toof?"

Her mother smiled at her gently.

"Of course she will, she knows you lost the tooth, and that's all that matters."

* * *

_Prompt: Horoscope._

Seras hung onto her father's arm excitedly as they weaved through the bustling crowd.

One of the brightly colored tents caught her eye, and she tugged on his sleeve and pointed to it.

"Daddy, I want to go see the fortune teller! Please! Please!"

He looked at the sign, then laughed and shrugged. It didn't cost all that much, and besides, Seras looked extremely excited.

He ducked his head as she bounced happily inside the tent, and was immediately accosted by the vivid and clashing scents of various perfumes and incense, which accompanied with the darker shadows of the tent, made for a mystical and supernatural atmosphere.

A woman with frizzy hair and a red headscarf raised an eyebrow as Seras happily plonked herself in the chair opposite, and he made an apologetic expression at her as he handed the crumples bills to her, and she settled herself, gazing intently at his daughter.

One painted eyebrow rose fractionally again before she began to speak in a calm, quiet voice.

"You were born under the sign of Cancer, child, and as such, your pursuit in life is set in the direction of eternal reassurance and closeness with those you care about. You secretly crave to feel safe above all else, emotionally, spiritually, romantically, and even, but not quite yet, financially. Your future is shrouded with dark things I cannot penetrate; but I will do my best."

Seras felt a tingle go down her spine, and squirmed even more excitedly in her seat at the sensation.

Her father sighed in barely contained impatience at his daughter, but held his peace.

The woman's dark eyes widened fractionally, then grew slightly sad.

"Your life will be fraught with difficulties, but you will overcome them all, sooner or later. As a Cancer, you may appear soft or hard, depending on the one who looks upon you in judgment. Up and down like a yo-yo, you feel one way one day, then totally different the next. Make sure all decisions you make, especially the hard ones, are done wisely."

Seras nodded with childlike willingness to obey, and her father dragged her out of the tent as the fortune teller lowered her trembling hands to her face.

"Gods guide you on your way, Seras Victoria."

* * *

_Prompt: Fairytale gone wrong._

Seras trembled on the floor, her eyes seeing nothing, her own blood pooling around her.

_Wrong. So wrong._

Bile erupted in her throat as she tried to vomit, but she had already emptied the contents of her stomach several times, and nothing but a vile bitter taste in her mouth happened as she gagged weakly.

_Mummy…Daddy…help…_

Her eyes squeezed shut and she looked away from the partially bare corpse as she gagged again on her own blood.

_Wrong. So wrong._

_Someone…can't someone come to help?_

Her eyes leaked tears as she squeezed them shut.

Wasn't someone supposed to come and save her?

Help her?

Like in the stories mummy read?

Her whole body shuddered as she let out a weak cry.

_Mummy…I can't…I can't…what he did…_

Her whole _body_ felt tainted, even though all that had happened to her was getting shot.

But mummy…but mummy…

She dry-heaved several times, but as per the norm now, nothing came up but bitter yellow bile.

_Help me…someone…anyone…_

She started crying harder as her silent plea was ignored and unheard.

There was no hunter to save this Little Red.

No Prince for this Cinderella.

No Knight for this Princess.

There was only Bluebeard.

* * *

_**For those of you who don't know that particular fairytale (and I don't blame you, it's not only a gruesome and therefore not-reading-material-before-bedtime-for-small-kids story, it comes from the era of the Brothers Grimm), Bluebeard is a story about a very rich man/nobleman who has a blue beard (surprise surprise), which is apparently found unattractive by many people. Despite that, he's already been married several times (the exact number depends on who's telling it) but nobody knows where his wives have gone. He visits…someone (another noble, I think) and persuades his youngest daughter to marry him. A short while after, he goes somewhere and leaves her the keys to his entire house, telling her not to go to a certain room with a certain separate key, or else. Naturally, after inviting some friends and her older sister to a party, she goes with her older sister to see what's in the room. She finds his former wives' bodies (in varying states of decomposition, mutilation, and burial, again depending on who's telling the story) and accidently drops the key in the pool of blood on the floor. He comes home, finds the bloodied key, threatens to kill her, and after several delays she manages to get her brothers there in time to kill him. They all share in the treasure, and pretty much after that she has a happy ending. But it's still quite a bit more morbid than any other fairytale I'VE read thus far…except for perhaps some early versions of Hansel and Gretel, and perhaps Baga Yaga.**_


	23. Rip van Winkle (Young)

_**I know (some) authentic German, Mutti is "mother", Vater is "father", and Bruder is "brother". Just in case you couldn't figure it out on your own.**_

* * *

_Prompt: Cliché._

Rip's eyes were huge as she clung to her elderly father, watching the characters play out the drama upon the stage.

Reality was temporarily swept away, and she gasped in horror as Zamiel advanced upon Caspar.

Her father had no time for coddling his children, so when he went to the opera, they came with.

This left no room for childish fantasies and fairy tales.

"_Up now! In mountains and ravines  
The joyful battle will rage tomorrow!"_

She wriggled about in joy as she watched the two shooters compare their skills together.

"The game in meadows and pastures,  
The bird of prey in clouds and breezes!"

This particular play was her most favorite of all, and it always left her feeling exhilarated, as if she herself could plunge into the forest and smite everything in her path, climbing higher and higher to the ascent of God himself.

"_Is ours, and ours the victory!"_

"_Ist uns, und uns der Sieg, und uns der Sieg!"_ she whispered, following along with the beautiful words as she gripped the edges of the balcony with a white-knuckled grip.

Hers would be the victory, when she grew up and could finally hold a gun properly.

* * *

_Prompt: Ribbon. _

"_Mutti! Mutti!_"

Rip rushed down the stairs, twirling to show her mother the bright blue ribbon in her hair.

"Look what sister gave me!"

Her mother looked up and smiled, making the little girl beam.

"It looks lovely Rip. Why don't you go show it to your friends?"

"Okay!"

The child scuttled down the steps, her blue-black hair tied back by the sky-blue ribbon.

The sun shone brightly as she pattered down the cobblestone street, and even the flowers seemed to be brighter in her childlike joy.

"Carlos! Liese! Look at my new-"

She skidded to a halt, her growing hair billowing to a halt a few seconds later.

Everyone in the town was huddled around a sign on a lamppost, and she wriggled through the crowd, wanting to see what everyone else was staring at when they could have been staring at her new ribbon.

Whispers echoed around her.

"A war?"

"A "great war"?"

"Soldiers are going to come to the town?"

"Is my son is going to be sent away?"

Rip's childlike blue eyes looked up at the notice that had created so much dismay in the townsfolk. Her brother was already reading it, his mouth tight.

Gingerly, she took his hand, somehow needing the reassurance, even though she was going on ten.

"_Bruder_…is something wrong?"

Her voice was trembling. She _knew_ something was wrong when he didn't respond instantly.

Finally he looked down and attempted a smile that was more like a grimace, gently squeezing her hand.

"Nothing's wrong _libeling_. Where did you get such a pretty new ribbon?"

She had already forgotten all about the ribbon.

It wasn't important anymore.

* * *

_Prompt: Renaissance._

Rip was an odd child.

Her father had taken her to an art hall once, and she had stared for a full minute at the fantastic paintings before her before speaking.

"What do you think I would look like as a painting, _vater_?"

She turned, but he was already gone, speaking with his enlightened associates.

She looked back up at the paintings, and her eyes traced to one where the figure was madly grinning, teeth sharp and silver, holding a musket outstretched, enemies falling before them.

She imagined herself in the place of that person.

Her hair would be long instead of short, swirling about her like an elegant bluish-black tracery.

Her fingers, white and long, would grip the polished stock of her beloved gun as a mother would cradle her child.

Her teeth, sharp and white, would bare themselves in a wolfish grin.

Her body, an adult's, would stand tall and proud as she slaughtered her enemies, clothed in black and blue.

Red would swirl around her, the blood of her prey, flowing in rivers before her feet.

"Rip van Winkle!"

She blinked, looking at her father as he snapped his fingers impatiently, his face irritated, as if he had called he several times.

"Coming _vater_!"

She snuck one last look at the painting before she scampered away.

She thought she would have made a much better model than the one in the painting.


	24. Young Walter and Girlycard

_**Kudos to Mr. War for giving me the idea for the second drabble here. Also, Walter is well aware of Alucard's gender before Hellsing: the Dawn, since when Alucard emerges from his coffin in Girlycard form, he makes a comment on Alucard being dazed from sleep and changing to this (Girlycard) form instead of his "normal" one. So yeah, he knew beforehand. Also, Arthur Hellsing did have some pretty funky hair when he was younger. Don't believe me? Google "Arthur Hellsing" and see what I'm talking about.**_

* * *

_Prompt: Caffeine._

Walter yawned and shivered, his eyes duller than normal.

This job was taking forever.

He lifted the ceramic mug to his lips, feeling the heat radiate through the baked pottery and into his near-frozen hands, his fingerless wire gloves doing nothing to warm his numb fingers.

He took a sip, savoring the heat that traveled from his mouth all the way down to his stomach, belying the icy sleet raining down around the Angel of Death and other people in the trench.

"Humans are so fascinating. You are surrounded by the corpses of your fallen enemies and comrades, the weather is cold enough to freeze your flesh from your bones, you have failed two times to kill your chosen prey, yet a cup of warm coffee makes you ignore it all."

Walter sighed through his nose and looked to the left, where the young female beside him, still impossibly clean and free of mud, smirked at him innocently.

"What now, Alucard?"

She smirked wider.

"My my, you _are_ testier than normal. I was afraid it sedated you."

Walter ignored the jibe. He knew it was only because Alucard was just as bored, not to mention restless, as himself.

He tapped his forefinger against the dark ceramic gently.

"Alucard, do you even know what's in this coffee?"

"Judging by most human's reactions, some kind of aphrodisiac combined with a sedative and an internal warming mechanism, sometimes with a slight side effect of insomnia."

Walter stared at her for a moment.

"You make it sound like some kind of strange lab concoction."

"It isn't?"

Walter raised his eyes to the sleeting heavens and sighed through his nose once more.

"No Alucard, it isn't. It's a perfectly normal beverage."

He took another contented sip as Alucard perfect teeth suddenly widened in another, decidedly less innocent smirk.

"Aren't the British supposed to more tea-loving?"

Walter's eye twitched at that, but he really couldn't argue with Alucard, especially when the vampire was in one of her moods.

"Alucard."

"Hmm?"

"Do me a favor and shut up about my coffee before I dump the entire mug of it on you."

There was a moment of silence as Walter continued sipping at his coffee, half-hoping the small spat had entertained the vampire enough so that she would leave him alone.

Alucard however, broke it almost instantly after he thought that.

"So, what kind of miracle drug _is_ in this miraculous coffee of yours?"

Walter stared at her for a moment, then shrugged and lifted it to his lips once more.

"Caffeine. Keeps the soldiers awake."

"Hmm. Awake so they can fight and kill."

Walter was about to answer that, but suddenly Alucard took the coffee from him and finished it off in one swallow.

She grinned as he snatched it back, scowling.

"I _like_ caffeine."

That vampire was going to be the death of him someday, he thought gloomily as he looked at the faint dregs still left inside the empty mug.

* * *

_Prompt: Reality leaves a horrible taste sometimes._

Walter calmly sipped his tea, his feet kicked up on the kitchenette's counter.

He was enjoying one of his rare moments of peace as the war started heating up, and enjoying one of the rare cups of coffee that he had made for himself instead of Arthur.

"So this is the "Angel of Death", Walter C. Dornez?"

Walter abruptly swallowed his mouthful of tea, his fingers tensing on the cup.

Vampiric aura and arrogant tone.

Vampire in mansion.

Wait…what about Alucard?

He knew that Arthur kept a relatively strong vampire of his own around, he'd seen her a few times, and he knew that she was fiercely territorial and violent.

So where was she now?

He turned in the chair, seeing a tall man with blazing red eyes and a long red duster standing behind him.

His eyes narrowed, masking his uncertainty with hostility.

"May I help you?"

The man grinned.

"That remains to be seen."

Walter eyed him suspiciously, but then Arthur's below sounded down the stairs and he had to get to his feet.

He made his way into the Hellsing director's study, and the man spun in his chair as his ever-present cowlicks framed his face like a pair of blonde horns.

"Ah, Walter!"

He nodded uncomfortably, winding some of his wires through his fingers delicately in his nervous concern.

It was justified.

Walter's eyes slid over to where the tall vampire calmly walked through the walls and stood beside him, watching Arthur through slitted red eyes, an amused and predatory grin playing around his pale lips.

They moved back to his employer.

"You know this vampire, Sir Hellsing?"

He forced the words to come out politely, and Arthur raised an eyebrow and chuckled at the forced culture from his young retainer.

"Yes, you could say that. By the by, he's going to be your partner in the field. We're sending you to the front."

Walter's eyes flashed, and he tried to hold back his excitement as he fished in his pocket for a spare cigarette, snapping the zippo and lighting it off quickly, buying himself time to think.

He always answered with his usual bad language when he rushed, and Sir Hellsing had expressed more than once that he was tired of it.

"If you say so, sir. We do we leave? And what about Alucard?"

Arthur laughed a few times, and to his surprise, the vampire joined in.

He drew in a breath angrily, then let it out slowly, maliciously letting the smoke waft towards the vampire's sensitive nose.

Arthur stopped laughing and smiled at the butler-in-training.

"You don't recognize him?"

Walter glanced towards the vampire again, then shrugged soundlessly, taking in a long draw of the cigarette.

"No."

"_That's_ Alucard. In his _true_ form."

Walter's eyes widened, and he choked on the smoke coming up from his lungs, his eyes watering, bending over slightly as racking coughs shuddered through his frame.

He felt a broad hand pound on his back twice, and suddenly he could breathe again as he straightened up, staring at the vampire that had helped him.

"_Alucard_?!"

She –no, _he_– grinned, inclining his head slightly.

"I look forward to working with you, Angel of Death."

* * *

_Prompt: Your rumpled sheets._

"I have a question Alucard."

The vampire raised an eyebrow at him from her spot on her seemingly over-large coffin.

"Yes?"

Walter toyed idly with the cigarette butt between his fingers, at long last lifting it up and taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out.

"Why _are_ you usually in female form nowadays? And why are you so young?"

Alucard crossed her legs and leaned back on the coffin, looking up at the off-white ceiling of their hotel room.

"I suppose it's because of the situation."

Walter mimicked her, lying flat on his mattress, but lay on his stomach, still with the glowing stick dangling from his fingers.

"The situation?" he asked, taking in another contented drag.

Alucard raised an eyebrow at him.

"And how would it look in battle if you charged in, a teenager boy, with my adult, normal form following you?"

Walter took a second to conjure up the appropriate mental image; Alucard, towering over the smaller male, sharp fangs bared in a vicious grin, his red duster billowing out in the stiff wind, gun outstretched, crimson eyes glowing with bloodlust.

His face reddened slightly in realization and embarrassment.

"I'd look like a bloody _toddler_ next to you."

Alucard smirked slightly.

"Exactly. When I'm so much smaller, the balance of visual power and intimidation is much more equal."

Walter had to concede to that and took another puff at his cigarette.

"Be that as it may, what I still don't understand is why you have to be a _female_."

Alucard shrugged soundlessly.

"Shape and form hold no meaning for me. I find it a good artistic counterpart to yourself in battle."

Walter snorted and rolled over on the bed, looking up at the intricate webbing of cracks in the cheap hotel room's ceiling.

"You're losing it in your old age, Alucard." he said derisively, putting the cigarette between his lips and sucking in.

"Sure I am. Old age decaying the mind and body is something that plagues you humans, not vampires like me."

He glanced backwards at the vampire laying on the coffin, smirking a little as he wiggled the glowing nicotine stick between his teeth, flashing him a mocking smirk as he did.

"You're just jealous I can grow old and die while still letting out my inner demon on the battlefield."

Alucard's red eyes flashed at him in irritation as the vampire bared her teeth slightly and a semi-playful yet at the same time warning grin.

"No need to rub it in Angel of Death."

Walter smirked and tilted his head back, relieving the pressure on his spine from craning his neck in such a way as he pulled the cigarette out, hiding a smug smirk at riling the vampire up, however slightly.

"Whatever you say Alucard, whatever you say."


	25. Dracula Hunting

_Prompt: Staccato._

He cocked his head, looking at the creature pinned in his grasp.

Wide eyes.

Rasping breath.

Heaving chest.

The shirt collar, stained with various unspeakable noxious fluids, grime, sweat, and soot, torn undone and showing the pulse pounding rapidly in the skin of the filthy neck.

A snakelike tongue flicked out and slithered along bloodless lips.

The heartbeat of the panicked man thrummed in his eyes.

Those eyes stared at him like he was the ultimate horror, snatching this man from the cobblestones as he walked past the abandoned alley.

A feral, vicious smile spread his lips over curled, sharpened fangs.

The man's panicked struggles increased, but he was firmly pinned in the vampire's unshakeable grip.

He darted in and bit down.

The man's blood was thin and tired. Life on the streets of London, in the Year of Our Lord 1800, had long since beaten any joy, any hope, any innocence or love, and any emotion but dull, tireless despair out of his prey's mind long ago.

But it was a meal.

He bit down harder, savoring the rich red liquid, feeling the weak, tired muscles spasm and kick against his implacable, marble-hard body.

The heart beat harder, faster, pumping the blood quicker, making it flow faster.

He sucked slower, taking his time over the meal, thumbing through the man's mind and memories without a care for the panicked thrashing of his doomed prey.

The pounding heart beat even faster.

He bit down harder.

The thunderous beat was slowing, the once steady, strong pulse becoming weak and erratic.

_Thud-thud._

_Thud-thud._

_Thud-thud._

_T-thud._

_Thud._

He withdrew his fangs, sliding them out of the bloodied casing of the man's neck as he swiped his tongue once across his pale lips, smirking icily.

The corpse slowly slid to the ground, eyes blank.

Dracula mockingly straightened his own, debonair clothing, his tongue flicking over his lips one last time, chasing the flavor of the crimson liquid as he straightened.

He calmly walked out of the alley, as if he had every right to be there and had only stepped in for a moment.

A woman across the street caught his gaze and blushed.

A small smile curved his lips, catching her heartbeat quicken at the sight.

_Thud-thud-thud._

_Thud-thud-thud._

His smile grew, fringing on predatory, and he started moving across the street to the blushing woman.

Such a lovely staccato beat, he thought evilly as he listened to her pounding heart.

* * *

_Prompt: Cadence. _

"Pardon me madam, but you bring such a lovely accent to this language."

He smiled flirtatiously as he brushed the blood red rose over her cheek, and she flushed and simpered, her delicate white fingers taking the stem carefully.

His nostrils flared as her fears were justified, the soft pad of one finger slicing itself open upon a sharp thorn, missed by the careful pruning of the gardener who had plucked it.

Unnoticed by the fluttering opera singer, his tongue darted out to moisten his lips as she dithered and at last pressed an expensive silk handkerchief to the tiny wound, leaving the rich scent of blood to corrupt the air around him and make his long-dead stomach softly growl with hunger, his throat starting up a low burn.

He smiled and pressed the urges aside, apologizing demurely for the offending thorn, making a small joke, watching her laugh and smile flirtatiously with all the emotion of a hawk watching its doomed prey.

In reality, that was exactly what was happening between him and the woman.

She laughed and put her hand on the crook of his arm, sending him a look under long, black lashes as she batted them twice.

The bait had been taken.

He escorted her home like a proper gentleman, laughing with her charmingly, conversing elegantly, steering her mind this way and that without even using his powers.

She winked at him as they entered, and he willingly let her go as she slipped into a different room to "change into something more appropriate".

He sat elegantly on the loveseat, waiting patiently as before long, his chosen prey waltzed into the room, a lascivious and coy smile flirting around her crimson-painted lips.

She straddled his lap, rubbing softly at his chest as she murmured to him softly, but his only attention was focused on the gentle curve of her swanlike neck.

He smiled, keeping his fangs hidden, and bent forward.

She let out a tiny yelp as his fangs slunk into her neck, and he placed his hand on the small of her tiny back, keeping her supported as his red-brown eyes closed blissfully.

He started swallowing.

A few hours later, he was shown out by the "lady", her smile slightly tired, as if she was drained of energy.

She passed it off as her…activities with him, but he knew the truth.

A disappearance of such a woman –young, nubile, her blood overflowing with life and energy– would almost certainly attract the wrong sort of attention, especially since he had already fed upon several other "performers" in the area.

He licked his lips twice, humming softly to himself.

His stomach was pleasantly full, and his needs had been fully sated. For the moment at least.

Now it was time for some entertainment.

* * *

_Prompt: Asphyxiate._

Dracula calmly walked towards the bridge over the quiet, sluggish river, dressed as usual in the height of elegance.

It wasn't as if he had to worry about-

"Hand over everythin' ya got, toff."

His eyes narrowed, and he turned, deliberately slow, and eyed the three men, dressed in ragged, cast-off working clothes.

He turned away again, starting to walk.

" 'Ey, you heard me foreigner? Ya speak English?!"

He ignored them, stepping onto the wooden bridge.

_First board._

A grimy hand gripped his shoulder.

"I SAID ARE YA LISTENIN' TA-"

_Snap._

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

The man screamed and awkwardly clutched his broken wrist, staggering backwards and wailing like a small child as his two companions gave each other uneasy looks.

But drunkenness and greed for money won out, and they approached him again.

_A third of the way across the bridge._

The first one had a knife, which he calmly snatched out of the drunk's grip –breaking several fingers as he did– and sunk it into the man's heart.

He fell back with a short gurgle.

He whipped around and seized the other man by the throat, slamming him into the side of the bridge.

_Halfway across._

Eyes bulging, the man scrabbled at his gloved fist, but his grip was implacable, and it was slowly tightening.

A bloodstream full of alcohol tasted wretched, and even the prospect of a free meal wasn't enough to entice him to feed from this lowlife.

The grip tightened further.

His face was clinical, almost bored, and his red eyes glowing faintly in the twilit darkness of the bridge.

_Craaack-_

_Snap._

He snorted silently and tossed the body over the bridge, continuing on his way.

He ignored the screams behind him as the rapidly sobering man started crawling away, hobbling on his one remaining hand and his knees.

The bodies of his companions lay there, one slowly bleeding out over the bridge, and the other sinking below the muddy surface as it was tugged downstream by the polluted current.


	26. Pip's Psyche Part 2

_**Sorry I've been gone for so long, my computer died a horrible and semi-permanent death and had to be resurrected. (sent back and repaired) Also in the second drabble, you can find the picture of (what I assume to be anyway) Pip's parents in the seventh OVA ending. Also also, I plan to do a grand Christmas update as a present to all of you, so check pretty much every story I have open and it'll probably have at least one or two more chapters. (Yes, even the Black Butler one.)**_

* * *

_Prompt: Lucky rabbit's paw._

"So…um…eh…I-I'm Pip Bernadotte…"

The fifteen-year-old boy turned beet red as the other recruits snickered, looking at his feet and shuffling them nervously.

"Alright, leave off the little nipper! It's time to eat!"

He sighed gratefully as the older boys dove into the plates of food, and eagerly joined them, thanking whichever anonymous person had saved him from the further humiliation of stammering out his other facts.

Life at St. Cyr was…interesting to say the least.

Pip's grandfather had sent him here to "learn to be a real mercenary", but the only thing Pip had learned so far was that he was horribly embarrassed at talking in front of all the older, more experienced cadets.

Also that his age was _not_ the normal one to be accepted into this prestigious academy.

He'd been here all of three days, and already he was having cramps in places he hadn't even known it was possible to get cramps.

Grandpa said that this academy was the best place to become a soldier (and a mercenary thereafter), and Pip was inclined to agree with him.

So far this was the strictest, most methodically, ruthlessly improving, and strenuous fitness and strategy course he had ever seen, never mind taken part in.

Pip sighed once more and fished in his pocket worriedly.

He tensed as his hand came up empty, and began fishing even more frantically in the empty canvas.

_Where is it?! Where is it!?_

"Eh, looking for this?"

He whipped around at the familiar voice.

It was the same kid who had saved him from another stammering fit.

In one hand he held a small white rabbit's foot.

"_Oui_! Yes, zat's mine!" he blurted, snatching it away from the elder male and clinging to it desperately.

"Is it important?"

Pip beamed and chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his head.

"Eh…it's my lucky rabbit's paw. My _maman_ gave it to me."

His newfound ally grinned and plopped down beside him.

"Well, it's a good thing I found it then. So what you'd do to get stuck in this hellhole, my fine underage friend?"

* * *

_Prompt: Freckles._

Pip squinted at the picture in the tarnished metal frame.

No use.

He sighed and spat on his palm, then rubbed the grubby glass until a vague face peered through the mirk.

_Eh…close enough?_

"Nah…" he muttered, rubbing his sleeve vigorously against the picture until the two forms were at least imperfectly picked out.

He held it up to the light with a critical eye, his tongue protruding slightly as he concentrated.

"Well, it'll have to do."

He tucked it in his pocket and trotted out into the early afternoon sun of Paris.

Sitting down on one of the many park benches, he inspected the picture in the better light.

A man with short, slightly curly strawberry blonde hair in a green polo shirt stood, his hand on the shoulder of a woman in a light pink long-sleeve shirt.

Her cropped hair was a light auburn, and her eyes were an impish green.

His fingers lightly traced them both, and an almost reverent sigh dropped from his lips.

He had his father's hair and his mother's eyes.

His father and mother, however, had one defining feature that had apparently skipped him.

Freckles.

His father had a light dusting of them, and his mother had slightly fewer, but darker.

Out of the many, many things he inherited, he kinda wished it had been that.

The freckles.

Not the bright green eyes from his mother.

Not the long, fine hair that was his pride and joy from his father.

Not the life of a mercenary.

The freckles.

* * *

_Prompt: 3:28am._

Pip looked at the digital clock and sadly reflected that, a few months ago, 3:28 in the morning would've been an ungodly hour.

Of course, now, it was merely the middle of the work day.

He sighed and carefully readjusted his beloved cowboy hat, heaving himself out of his bed.

He'd been trying to catch up on lost sleep, but it seemed to have been useless.

At least the schedule was keeping him and the other men in shape.

At the first sign of darkness, they were to be out and in the mess hall, eating the surprisingly edible English breakfast. (The taste and consistency were occasionally off, but it was palatable even then, so he supposed he had no reason to complain.)

After which, they were sent to the training room, which certainly kept them fitter than they'd ever been. The use of some of Alucard's ghoulish familiars cemented the enthusiasm of the new troops.

After that _delightful_ exercise, most of them were completely wiped, and it was time for a nap or whatever else you did in your free time.

Most chose to nap, or at least try.

Others decided to practice their marksmanship, thinking that it would improve their chances on the battlefield.

The few, the lonely, brave, (or perhaps psychopathic) few that were not terrorized by nightmares every time they closed their eyes, to the point that the extra sleeping time was required, or were confident enough about their marksmanship to not die on the field of undead battle, usually played cards during this time.

Pip made it a matter of political duty, as their Captain, to switch his routine so that he included himself in each chosen "free time" activity at least once per week. Today, it was sleeping.

He didn't particularly like or dislike this occupation; money was money and they were being paid big bucks to guard this mansion and England in its entirety.

He just wished it was a bit less stressful on the men.

Any good commander would tell you the same; the men came first, especially when the campaign seemed likely to stretch on and on and on for weeks, or even months on end.

This particular campaign had been stretching on for centuries, or so the elder vampire hinted in the few occasions he deigned to show himself to the lowly mercenary troops.

Pip (and some others) usually had an increased amount of nightmares the morning after, because of course they no longer slept at night like normal human beings.

He sighed again and shook his head.

For all that Sir Integra and the other Round Table members directed the fighting, it seemed that the vampires themselves were running how the war was fought.

They fought in the dark, and not in the light.


	27. Reconquista

_Prompt: Kaleidoscope._

Simon had been a faithful man of God up until five minutes ago.

He was a twenty-two year old man in the Knights of the Order of Malta, fresh from a seminary in the Holy See itself, his father from Milan, his mother from Naples.

The only reason he was here was his hobbies of playing with guns and firearms.

He wasn't half bad a shot; good enough to get into the Knights, good enough to get by on that alone if he chose to, but nothing like a professional.

Word had come to his own superiors from higher up a few hours ago; gather up your faith and your arms, we're heading for London.

He hadn't questioned why at the time, he hadn't needed to; the whole world had seen the conflagration London had become on their televisions.

He was eager to help. The Protestants were still Christians after all, and no person except those truly steeped in black evil deserved to die in a vampiric-styled hell.

He had been such a fool.

He'd never been to London before; his face crinkled in sorrow under his hood as he saw the shattered remnants of monuments he had hoped to see one day, but not like this, never like this.

His lips had moved in prayer, for the innocent dead, for the burning city, for his comrades, that they may all survive and carry on with their work of spreading the Lord's word.

That had been twenty minutes ago.

His helicopter had landed with the others, and he had gotten out, along with his friend Miguel, whom he had met a few months ago. They'd shared lunches, talked about their futures, their families, the problems of their small flocks.

Miguel was somewhere behind him now, buried until a river of corpses, blood, and death.

That had happened ten minutes ago.

He had foolishly thought that nothing could ever shake his belief in God, back in the helicopter as others murmured prayers or oaths, depending on their nature.

That was before this monster, this horror, this _thing_ had been unleashed.

Blood was all around him, on him, in his mouth, his eyes, his nose, his ears.

Death was on his tongue.

The whole world, the universe, narrowed to this street, and the next, and the next, an entire city, a city of death.

Screaming Catholics and fleeing Nazis were being sucked up into this tide, this vortex, this river of death, sucked up and crushed, pulverized, mashed together in a hideous kaleidoscope of friend, foe, friend, foe, and _blood, blood, blood,_ then spilled out upon the fire-scorched blood-soaked streets like a long, shuddering runoff from a dying creature's veins.

He was scared. He was so scared.

He had dropped his gun a few streets back.

He dropped his faith now.

God could not permit such a thing to exist. The very mind itself shied away from this abomination, this blasphemy, this thing that should not be.

And yet, horribly, it was.

Faithless, friendless, and quite nearly mindless, he was almost glad when the first hand snapped around his ankle, his body was heaved off the ground, and he could at last submit to the voracious abyss.

* * *

_Prompt: Icarus._

It hurt so much.

It hurt, it hurt.

Father, Archbishop Enrico Maxwell tried to breathe in, and breathed blood.

He choked, coughed, vomited up more blood.

He couldn't believe he was still alive.

He could see the shining, bloodied points of metal erupting from his stomach, knew the blow should've killed him, and yet, he lived.

Why did he live?!

He was suspended off the ground by spears, spears embedded in his guts, surrounded by the hungry dead, imprisoned in a city of flames, and yet, he still lived?!

Streams of blood flowed from his lips; he was choking, barely able to breathe. Memories drifted before his eyes.

_Icarus was the son of a famous Greek architect. He and his father were imprisoned on the isle of Crete by its king, who had ordered his father to build a maze for a Minotaur._

Why had Anderson done this?!

Why, he wanted to scream, why!?

He had been doing the right thing!

_To escape, Icarus's father fashioned two pairs of wings, made of feathers and wax. They were imprisoned in a tower with no doors at the base, just a window at the top; this was a fine plan._

He had been purging England like a cancer, a cancer in the body of the most holy Church!

So why, he wanted to howl at God, why was he being punished for that?!

_Icarus was warned not to fly too low, for the moisture of the sea would undo his feathered constructs, nor too high, for the sun's rays would melt them from his back. But he was an impetuous and arrogant youth; he did not heed his father's wisdom._

His future had seemed so great.

An Archbishop, his heart cried, an Archbishop!

The bastard son, reviled and spat upon by humanity, now one of their greatest leaders!

But it was not to be.

_Although at first the flight was frightening and strange, being as Icarus had never had the use of wings before, and both the sea below and the sky above seemed like gaping maws about to swallow him whole, it soon began to be almost pleasant. Disaster had not occurred, no matter what tentative maneuver he had cared to try. He grew bolder._

An army, an army, a Reconquista, the Ninth Crusade!

Pride brimmed in his heart. He was the leader of the Ninth Crusade, and his name would be shouted by screaming masses for centuries to come.

But pride is a sin.

And he thought not of the tone of the screaming crowds.

_He began to swerve and dip, although his father implored him to focus and fly with all speed. Icarus was flighted! Soaring where only birds and gods had gone before, he was immortal, invincible! None could touch him, no hand could scratch him. None, except that of hubris._

And then the monster had been unleashed.

Horror, his mind cried out, abomination!

Dracula, the No-Life-King, this thing that should not be, the dragon that dashed his dreams to dust.

_At least, fearing no danger, Icarus soared high in the sky, looking down at all the pitiful peasants who had not his power. Immortal, invincible! His mind cried to the heavens and the earth. Powerful, almighty! But a sudden heat upon his back checked his exultant heart._

The blades in his gut hurt far less than the one in his heart.

Even Anderson, his teacher, his father-figure, his loyal soldier, had dismissed him as unworthy.

Tears watered in his eyes, but he had not even the strength to cry.

_Flying too close to the sun, Icarus's wings had melted. Wax flecked the sky, and to his horror, he felt himself falling down, down, down. His father, although perhaps wisest among living men, could not save his son from himself and his hubris, and Icarus fell and drowned in the ocean that now bears his name._

With one last cough and blood-flecked splutter, the Archbishop Enrico Maxwell yielded up his life.

* * *

_Prompt: 1000 paper cranes._

They flecked the sky like insects, like bugs, like the biblical plague of locusts that they were.

Confident in their own holiness, confident in the unholy inferiority of their opponents, they rained death upon London.

Until _he_ awoke.

The sky, dark with helicopters and infrequent white splotches of the uniformed crusaders, flashes of fire coming from above and below, was rent with red, the red of blood, the glowing crimson and black of the vampire's unholy shadows.

Like drones without a queen, the perfectly ordered rows soon became chaos, wheeling and crashing into each other in the sky as red, fiery flowers bloomed on the blackened canvas of the night.

Like fragile paper cranes destroyed by a spoiled child, they broke, bent, tore, and were slashed, ripped, rent, smashed.

The "child" below; Dracula, the No-Life King, vampire among all vampires.

His glowing crimson eyes bored holes in the night as he sent his own drones to do his will, still and unmoving as a marble statue.

Screams and bodies rained down from the sky, but still he stood, unmoving.

And a thousand paper cranes burned in the night.


	28. Alucard-Hellsing Relations

**_About the second drabble, it's shown in both the OVA and the manga (not sure about the anime yet) that Richard had never seen or heard of Alucard before, as in the manga, when he resurrects and one of Richard's guards asks what the hell he is, Richard states that he has no idea, and that his brother never mentioned a word about it. Since the age difference between them is unknown (Arthur is shown to have white hair in the OVA, and Richard's still has color), it is theoretically possible that Alucard was sealed in the basement before Richard was even born, or at least when he was very, very young. Since Hellsing seems to have a "need to know" policy where you truly NEED to know before they tell you anything about vampires, Arthur and whatever staff did know about Alucard didn't mention it to Richard, since they had Arthur as an heir already. That, or Arthur knew he wasn't 100% trustworthy, and kept all mention of the vampire away from him, so he merely saw Hellsing as a sort of governmental agency. Given how Richard turned out, that was probably a wise precaution on Arthur's part. Anyway, I took the liberty of removing that bit of history, so Richard does know about Alucard in the second drabble._**

* * *

_P__rompt: Origami._

"Back already, vampire?"

Sir Arthur Hellsing sat primly upright, his suit crisply pressed, his eyes clear, his hair more or less slicked back, and his desk utterly neat.

The two strands of hair that always stuck out like devilish horns, no matter how much gel was used, were a private hilarity to the Hellsing family's servant. It amused him that his fanatically neat and domineering master could not tame his own hair, nor bend it to his whim.

He nodded quietly and held out something in one cotton-gloved hand.

Arthur's brow furrowed and he picked up the small black object, oblivious to the vampire's hidden grin.

"What is this?"

Alucard allowed the smirk to show through.

"A bat. An _origami_ bat."

Sir Arthur twisted the folded paper wonderingly, frowning ever so slightly.

"Is this some strange custom you picked up from the Japs?"

"You sent me over to learn their culture, my master."

Arthur set the bat down, frowning heavily at his servant.

"I sent you to spy on them, which is a damned foolish bloody mission for Irons to have sent you on."

Alucard grinned at the hint of a grumble in his master's tone.

"So possessive of me already?"

Arthur aimed a deadly glare at his servant.

"More like cautious. I know what happens when you get bored or feel jilted. People die."

"People will die whether I am bored or not. War is coming."

Arthur sighed ponderously and spun his chair in a circle.

"War, war, war. That's all anyone talks about nowadays."

Alucard picked the bat up from the desk.

"They have reason to. Did you know the customs pertaining to some kinds of _origami_, Master?"

Arthur eyed the vampire suspiciously.

He had reason to, after all. Alucard never just mentioned something for the sake of mentioning it.

"No, I don't. I assume it's something pertinent to either the war or any one of my numerous problems?"

The vampire chuckled openly at his master's resigned tone.

"A bit of both, in actuality. In Japan, it's a custom to fold 1,000 paper cranes, which will give you a wish, or good luck."

Arthur sighed resignedly, resting his cheek on his hand.

"And you thought a bat was more proper for the head of Hellsing than a crane?"

Alucard calmly placed the bat on his master's desk and turned away, still chuckling.

He paused at the door, turning his head slightly so his master could see the carefully cultivated smirk of half mockery, half amusement.

"The rest of them are on your writing desk. The Japanese find that the luck works best when the cranes are hung."

He turned, and with a swish of his duster, left.

"Good luck, Master."

Arthur sighed and picked up the bat, twirling it between his fingers.

"Bloody twit. Where the hell am I going to hang these?"

* * *

_Prompt: Hallucination._

Richard Hellsing scowled at the bolted, locked, and sealed door.

_Damn vampire._

If _only_ he had Alucard, this whole place would bow to him and nobody else, _especially _that _whoring_ Arthur.

What had father been _thinking_?!

Richard had been the obvious choice!

Not _Sir_ Damn-his-eyes Arthur Hellsing!

It was completely and utterly unfair!

Richard was solid, upstanding, dependable!

Arthur was liable to jump in bed with anything that had legs, and drank to boot!

He slammed his fist against the solid steel door, swearing to himself.

He needed Alucard.

But he couldn't get to him.

He felt a vein throb in his forehead, and forcibly relaxed himself.

The nurses had already been giving him warnings about his blood pressure.

**_Who?_**

Richard jumped.

_A…voice?_

He glanced around, then looked at the door again warily.

He cautiously approached it, then laid his hands on the flat metal once more, closing his eyes.

He could almost taste the creature's power from here.

"Alucard?"

**_You are…a Hellsing._**

He gritted his teeth.

Doubting, they always doubted when they saw him.

What did Arthur have that he didn't, that marked _him_ as a Hellsing on sight!

"Yes! Yes I am! I am your master!"

**_I serve no master._**

"You serve the Hellsings! You serve me! I am your master!"

He slammed his hand on the door as he spoke, and hissed as he cut himself on a jagged edge.

Blood spilled over his palm as he gripped his wrist, cascading on the floor, far too much for such a minor cut.

He stared at the crimson tide with a mixture of horror and fascination, watching the pool spread and envelop his feet.

**_I serve no master. I serve no Hellsing._**

His mouth gaped open as a face, grotesque and twisted, formed in the bloody tide, and arched up, a column of sticky red towering over him.

It writhed, twisted, became a hunched, cloaked figure.

He felt hands made of blood clutch his throat.

**_I serve no master. I serve no Hellsing._**

He clawed at the hands, gasping.

"Wh…what are you?"

The thing's hands tightened.

**_I am you, your corruption, your life._**

It swayed closer.

**_Your blood._**

Richard's eyes snapped open, and he bolted upright in his bed, breathing hard.

His eyes searched the corners of the room.

Nothing.

Not even a stray shadow.

He rubbed at his throat, remembering the incredibly lifelike grip, and winced at a sting on his palm.

With a shaking hand, he turned on his bedside lamp.

On his right hand was a gash, trickling blood.

Down in the basement, a corpse, confined in mummy-like wrappings, shifted just barely.

A smirk formed on weathered, dry lips.

**_You will never command me._**

* * *

_Prompt: Puppet show._

Abraham van Hellsing awoke to a ghoul staring him in the face.

"BLOODY **HELL**!"

He recognized the rotted, dead features; it was one of the housemaids, the slutty one.

The ghoul lunged for him and he groped for the pistol under his mattress, firing just in time.

The corpse collapsed to ash, and he swore and beat his nightgown, clouds of the foul ash flitting around his room.

Getting up and stumping across the roof to grab his sword and three other pistols, he paused, hearing moans in the floors below.

His mind flashed to the only conclusion possible; Dracula.

But_ how had the monster disobeyed his orders_?!

Dracula's bonds were far from set in stone, as van Hellsing wished them to be, but the very first thing he had made sure of was the fact the vampire was not allowed to harm any humans.

The exact wording had been-

The conclusion leapt upon him like the ghoul, and he swore under his breath.

"_You are not allowed to speak to, fraternize, or touch any of the household staff, nor any humans who enter the premises, except by my direct order. You are not allowed to influence their minds, nor their dreams, and you are not allowed to fulfil their fantasies._"

He had included nothing about what the vampire was to do if one of the humans actually had the audacity and idiocy to approach him, _without_ coercion on his part.

The maid he had just killed was infamous amongst the staff for her casual sexual relations and insatiable appetite; it wouldn't have taken much on Dracula's part to coerce her, even if he had been able.

She had probably offered herself to the bloody beast out of some foolish feminine sense of pity.

From there, it would be simple enough.

All he had to do was bite her carefully enough that she wouldn't notice, and then set her amongst the household staff.

It wouldn't have been any of his fault, had the ghouls managed to kill his master.

And thus, the beast would've been free again.

Abraham loaded the pistols, loosened his sword in its sheath, and stumped out the door.

_Not tonight, you bloody beast. Not tonight._

He stopped at the head of the stairs to the ground floor, filling his lungs.

"**DRACULA**!"

His furious bellow rang throughout the house, sending dust drifting down from the rafters and causing the assembled ghouls of his former household to start limping towards his position, moans echoing around the house.

He hoped the sound of his rage sent the beast cowering in his cell.

It knew what happened to it when Master was this angry.

As the first few shambling corpses tottered around the corner, he pulled the pistol out and began firing, ignoring the pain in his rheumatic leg.

Slowly, he descended the stairs, spent casings littering the freshly-sawn boards along with several inches of ghoul dust.

He finally made it to the ground floor, and just as slowly, he began walking towards the door to the basement.

A half-hour later, he stood above the huddled corpse of Dracula himself, bound in layer after layer of blessed, enchanted, and alchemically enhanced restraints, chains and leather straps alike.

The beast was near mindless with fear, its red eyes dilated to the point the pupil was nearly gone, and a low, feral, snarling whine echoed around the cell as it pressed close to the ground.

He raised the silver crop he had installed in the cell and began beating his captive furiously, ignoring its agonized howls.

"NEVER! YOU ARE NEVER TO BITE ANOTHER HUMAN AGAIN, NOT UNLESS THEY OFFER THEMSELVES TO YOU FIRST, AND SPECIFICALLY WITH THAT INTENTION! DO YOU HEAR ME VAMPIRE?! NOT EVER!"


	29. Alucard's Imprisonment

_Prompt: Triskaidekaphobia. (Fear of the number thirteen.)_

His mind was hazy.

What day was it?

What year?

What century?

One tattered, bloodied stump of a hand crept out from the confines of his last, hallowed domain.

He just barely brushed up against one of the thirteen silver runes, and retreated instantly, shrilling in agony.

The holy bite of the metal burned through him, blessed, twice blessed, thrice blessed.

His animalistic growls and whimpers sounded throughout the crypt as he cradled his smoking, torn, rent fingers, huddling like a beaten cur in the comforting confines of his last domain.

The creature that was once Dracula peered through sheets of ghostly white hair at the light that flickered through the bars of his prison, coming from the thick iron door, covered in thirteen more blessed, silver, burning runes.

He whimpered and curled up further in remembered pain.

His pride was broken, no more than his mind.

All he wanted was sleep, the endless sleep he would never get.

The true sleep of the truly dead.

His coffin, an island of darkness in the brightness of his cell.

His only comfort, his only refuge.

Less than twelve square feet of fragile, ancient wood, frequently less than an inch thick in places, that was all that shielded him from the vicious silver all around.

He cowered, wrapped around himself and wedged into his wooden tomb, waiting alone and in the dark for the blow that never came.

He hid from the runes, he hid from the silver, and most importantly, he hid from Van Hellsing.

* * *

_Prompt: Hourglass._

Alucard, as he was newly dubbed, peered curiously at the seals upon his hands.

Inked in the blood of himself and Van Hellsing, twisted into Theban and alchemic writing, locked in pagan symbols.

It was an hourglass, the sands of its time trickling away.

He would obey this vampire hunter, this Van Hellsing, and he w

ould obey his successors, his children, as long as they proved themselves worthy to be his master.

But nothing lasts forever.

Eventually, eventually, Van Hellsing's line would falter and fail.

Eventually, whether through conspiracy, lack of interest, or accident, a Hellsing member would not breed a new generation of would happen then?

He did not know, nor care.

What he did know, what he did care about, was the fact that someday, ten years, a hundred years, a thousand, the Hellsing line would fail, and he would be free.

Even if they passed him to another family, he would be free.

No family could bind him as successfully as Van Hellsing had bound him.

He smiled, showing his sharpened teeth.

Yes, he would obey the Hellsing man for now.

But sooner or later, the hourglass would run out.

* * *

_Prompt: Letters to the moon._

The moon was his one constant, his marker.

No matter where he went or what he did, if he looked up, the moon would still be there in the sky, waxing, waning, sickle, gibbous.

It would be there.

It was not the sun, which he hated, a bright, pervasive light that made the space behind his eyes ache and burned his skin, but a cooler, gentler beam, like a refreshing spring flowing from the earth.

The moon made the night beautiful, made it worthwhile.

He missed light, sometimes, missed being able to walk in the sun without feeling like it was burning him away layer by layer.

The moon was his light, and it was a pure light, a wholesome one, even when stained with the bloody red of an eclipse, even when it was the sickly orange of a harvest moon, the cheesy yellow of an autumn evening, the icy white of a northern sky.

It was always Luna, the moon, and not Sol, the sun, hot, overbearing, and clumsy, like the humans who loved it so.

Even now, when he was trapped underground and denied the freedom so integral to his being, he could look up and see the moon, drifting serenely through the sky.

It made him smile.

Van Hellsing had asked him why he liked wolves, when bats were more traditional, insects more insidious, mist more subtle.

He had answered honestly.

The moon.

They can sing to the moon.

"Children of the night; what music they make."

Little did he know how famous that line would become.

He hated it when Van Hellsing put him in the laboratories, where there was no moon, no windows to watch the night sky.

He missed it when that happened.

As he curled up in his coffin every morning, he'd always wait until the moon set before sleeping.

It was his goodnight, of sorts.

Van Hellsing had let him keep the only cell with a window, for which he was obscenely grateful for.

Sometimes he thought the moon was the only thing that kept him sane.


	30. Integra's Psyche P2

_Prompt: Jupiter._

Integra considered her cigar carefully in a rare moment of introspection.

What did it mean, to be a Hellsing?

She'd had it drummed into her since before she could prattle.

To be of the Hellsing blood is to be proud, persistent, unflappable, indomitable, capable, unescapable.

The noblest of noble families, the vampire hunters, strong and true as steel.

Like the Roman god of oaths, Jupiter.

Jupiter was the king of all the Roman gods, their own parallel to Zeus and the representation of their mighty empire.

He was their guardian, their safeguard, their shield, their faith.

A Hellsing must be the Jupiter of England, a secret but no less powerful Jupiter.

She had to protect her empire from its impure residents, it's unholy underground.

Sacrifices were offered, soldiers, equipment, weapons, money, offered by those who had no true idea of what she was, what she did, but knew, instinctively, in their heart of hearts, that she must be venerated and protected.

And Jupiter protected them all.

* * *

_Prompt: Ballet shoes._

"Sir Integra! Sir Integra!"

Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, age fourteen, turned, coming down with a huff on her painfully tight ballet shoes.

One of the commanders, whose name she could never remember, was pushing past her dance teacher, covered in blood.

"Ghouls have broken out in Suffolk! We're being massacred!"

As a Hellsing, her job was clear.

The fourteen-year-old child straightened her glasses and picked up her coat, gesturing to both stunned adults.

"Soldier, please escort this civilian to the medical bay and lock yourselves in. Make sure Mrs. Travering does not contact any other parties with her cell phone." she said rapidly, walking past the both of them.

"Send Walter around with a car; I don't care which one, just something with wheels."

Ten minutes later, Integra stepped out of a shining black auto, still in the ballerina shoes that she had not had the time to change out of.

Walter handed her a gun.

Her coat was already riddled with pockets full of silver, blessed ammunition.

Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing racked the slide and descended into a nightmare of death, blood, and ghouls.

Soon her pretty, pink ballet shoes were soaked in crimson, sticky blood.

* * *

_Prompt: Spider._

Ancient, old, other.

Silky string, spinning outward into tiny strands, centered at the utterly, completely, still body of the spider itself.

Waiting for the kill.

The spider was patient; it had to be.

One leg extended and gently twitched a spiraling strand.

_Level Zero Release, approved._

The spider stilled as the cloud of buzzing gnats struck the web, stuck, stayed.

The spider reeled them in to her hungry brood.

Another spider sat in another web, a male, hungry, bestial.

Its own gnats from its own web were reeled in as well, but strangely, it did not seem to care.

Tugged by the first spider, the two webs met, meshed.

Now there was a reaction.

Both spiders chittered angrily at the disruption of their perfectly woven web, creeping along the tangled strands in search of the perpetrator.

They found each other, found each other in the very epicenter of the tangled knots, and fought.

As in most cases of the species, the female, bigger and more deadly than the male, triumphed, and his carcass was left to rot in the remainder of his web as she cut her own free

And Integra Hellsing walked away.


End file.
